



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Sfpp.TZ-lGojttjnrjfjl l|tt. 

Sh elf F 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 











I CANNOT SET THIS COPY. 





Foreman Jennie 


A YOUNG WOMAN OF BUSINESS. 


BY 

AMOS R. 


WE 


ELLS. 


ILLUSTRATED. 



l OF C 


•o 

m 28 1805 


■»y 




BOSTON 

W. A. WILDE & COMPANY, 
25 B rom fi eld Street. 



COPYRIGHT, 1895. 

By W. A. WILDE & CO. 
A ll rights reserved. 


FOREMAN JENNIE 


PREFACE. 


This story first appeared in the international 
Christian Endeavor organ, The Golden Rule. 
I have taken advantage of this republication to 
^double the size of the story, relating many addi- 
tional incidents in the lives of Foreman Jack and 
Foreman Jennie. 

The book is sent out in the hope that it will 
help the thousands of brave young men and 
women everywhere, who are not ashamed but 
count it their highest honor to be known as 
“working people.” Strength and skill to your 
hands, dear friends, clearness to your minds, 
and courage to your hearts ! 


Boston, March 20, 1895. 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER. PAGE. 

I. Some Bad Copy 9 

II. Some Worse Copy . 19 

III. A Morning Out of Joint 31 

IV. They Organize 42 

V. A Cruel Father 55 

VI. The Christian Endeavor Surprise Party . . . 67 

VII. Type Fairies and Fun 85 

VIII. The Best Society 101 

IX. Common Sense at a Fire 123 

X. A Terrible Discord 135 

XI. Her Father’s Business 147 

XII. They Can Stand it no Longer 156 

XIII. Do You Know Christ ? 166 

XIV. Stop Those Presses ! 182 

XV. On Dangerous Ground 192 

XVI. So as by Fire 202 

XVII. Foreman Jennie 21 1 

XVIII. In the Hospital 221 

XIX. The Christmas Number 232 

XX. Night Work 243 

XXI. Foreman Jennie Still 258 


5 






ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE. 

u I cannot set this copy ” Frontispiece. 30 

The meeting was very short and quiet 53 

“ Oh, it must be heaven to live in such a place I ” . . . 105 

“ I believe and hope that you have come here to 

talk about Christ ” 169 


7 






























































































































** 








» 









FOREMAN JENNIE. 


CHAPTER I. 

SOME BAD COPY. 

“T NEVER will advertise for help again ! ” 

* Well might Foreman Edwards exclaim 
thus in disgust. A two-line notice in yesterday 
afternoon’s Journal , stating that a compositor 
was needed in the office of The White Plume , 
had brought down upon him an overwhelming 
throng of applicants. 

They were all girls, — timid girls and bold 
girls ; quiet girls and magpie girls ; girls coarse 
and girls ladylike ; yes, and Christian girls 
jostled by hard-faced worldlings ; for when a 
girl goes into business she no longer can pick 
her company. 

“I want to be fair to all these,” explained 
Foreman Edwards to Mr. Barton, the editor of 
The White Plume. “ I want to be perfectly 
fair, and so I have given each of them the same 


10 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


bit of typewritten copy to set up. But I have 
only four cases at which they can work, so I do 
not get along very fast.” 

Mr. Barton watched with interest to see how 
variously the different contestants took the test. 
Each was given the “ stick that is, the little 
steel box with a sliding side set just to the width 
of a column, the box in which the type was 
to be ranged. Each seated herself on a high 
stool in front of the slanting “case” with its 
many compartments, one to a letter. Before 
each, in the iron “ copyholder,” was the fateful 
bit of typewritten manuscript which she must 
reproduce, as speedily and accurately as possi- 
ble, in solid lead. 

Some went at it as a dog eats a stolen bone, 
furtively and fearfully. Some were so anxious 
that they made many mistakes ; some were so 
careless that they made more. Some watched 
the clock so much that they fell far behind ; 
some fell further behind because they took no 
thought for speed at all. 

Each was required at the conclusion of her 
task to lift up the mass of ordered type into a 


SOME BAD COPY. 


II 


long, shallow brass tray called a “galley.” 
This was nervous work. It called for a strong, 
firm hand and a steady temper. Few accom- 
plished the feat with safety and speed. Many 
dropped a word or a line. Some — poor girls ! 
— “ pied ” the entire “ stickful.” 

“ Quite a panorama of human life,” said 
Editor Barton, looking on, “ and a good illustra- 
tion of why so many fail, and so few succeed.” 
And he went away to write an editorial on it. 

Among this crowd of contesting compositors 
is — Jennie . Take a look at her as she quietly 
waits her turn, — a good look, for, indeed, she 
is worth looking at. 

She is rather under height, but womanly 
enough to make up for that. Her hair — yes, 
I will use that adjective, for it is just the right 
one — is auburn, and her eyes are blue. They 
look straight at you, with a shy light in them 
that wants to be friendly. Her face is that 
pretty pink and white that always add them- 
selves to such hair and eyes — to her that hath 
shall be given — and her face also has, it must 
be confessed, the freckles that constitute the 


12 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


only flaw in this dower of Saxon beauty. Jen- 
nie’s dress is of the color that auburn-haired girls 
always prefer, if they are wise, — a rich, dark 
brown. And Jennie’s hands are very white. 

“Hum!” mutters Foreman Edwards, when 
he notices those white hands. “ A green one 
that, I’ll wager ! ” 

But watch Jennie when it comes her turn. 
Cool-headed and swift-fingered, her white hand 
flies light and rapid as a sea-bird, back and 
forth between the grimy boxes and the firmly 
held “ stick.” Steadily grow the well-ordered 
lines of type, and before long the clear blue 
eyes begin to flash with the excitement of the 
end of a race. 

“ Wh-e-e-ew I 5 '” whistled Dick, looking at her 
out of the corner of his eyes. Dick, — Richard 
Caswell, — was Jack Edwards’s assistant, as 
bright and breezy a young fellow as you often 
see. He was setting up an “ad,” — a job that 
required circumspection, — yet he kept a sharp 
lookout on the interesting trial. “Wh-e-e-ew! 
Smart as pepper ! ” 

Foreman Edwards looked on with amaze- 


SOME BAD COPY. 


!3 


ment, as the white hands, now black as ink 
upon the inner surface, lifted the type from the 
stick to the galley with easy art, and he asked 
the young compositor where she had been work- 
ing. 

‘‘Nowhere, sir,” answered Jennie; “no- 
where, that is, except at home. My brother 
Henry and I ran a printing-press for fun. But 
Henry is dead.” And hot tears clouded the 
sunny blue eyes. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Foreman Edwards 
awkwardly ; and as by this time the rest of this 
set of competitors had completed their tasks, he 
busied himself with “ proving ” their work. 
Placing the half-filled galley on the bed of the 
proof-press, he inked the type, laid over it a 
sheet of paper, and with a lever brought down 
upon it the vise-like pressure of the machine. 

Each paragraph was marked with the name 
of the compositor whose work it was, set up 
with the type, and Foreman Edwards’s trained 
eye rested with pleasure on that signed “Jennie 
Rolland.” The spacing between the words was 
good and uniform. Few words were divided at 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


H 

the end of a line. The three glaring errors that 
had been purposely placed in the copy — one in 
spelling, one in punctuation, and one in capitali- 
zation — were properly corrected. There was 
only one mistake in the paragraph, probably 
caused by the slipping of an “a” into the 
neighboring “ r ” box. 

Jennie was among the last to be tested. Mr. 
Edwards had singled out the poorer compositors, 
as the examination proceeded, and sent them 
away. Only a few remained whom he con- 
sidered likely to be suitable. 

“You may all go,” said Foreman Edwards, 
after a brief review of his proofs, “ all but Miss 
Rolland and Miss Banks. Those two are 
about equally good, and I want them to try 
again on harder copy.” 

With disconsolate looks the unsuccessful 
applicants filed from the room, leaving Jennie 
and Miss Banks alone. Miss Banks was a pale 
and thin-faced girl, whose hands were con- 
stantly working in nervous excitement. 

Foreman Edwards took from the copy-drawer 
some manuscript at the sight of which Dick 


SOME BAD COPY. 


15 


and all the girls in the room — and you may be 
sure the entire force of compositors were inter- 
ested spectators of the scene just described — 
cast at each other looks of amused anticipation. 
It was Mr. Barton’s copy, and rivalled Horace 
Greeley’s. Indeed, it was worse than Mr. 
Greeley’s, for the renowned founder of The 
Tribune did at least represent the same letter 
always by the same sort of indescribable scrawl ; 
but the contortions of Editor Barton’s chirog- 
raphy were of infinite variety. 

Poor Jennie and Miss Banks knit their brows. 
For the first time in her life the former was glad 
that her dear, dead brother had written such a 
wretched hand. The abominable bit of manu- 
script before her suggested, in many ways, 
Henry’s scrawls, which her patient, sisterly 
fingers had so often put into type ; for Henry 
had been quite a writer, and always sent his 
manuscripts to the editors already printed, that 
they might be read more easily, and stand a 
better chance of acceptance. 

For how much trouble and needless toil poor 
penmen are responsible ! Our two contestants 


l6 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

grew hot and cold over their “takes,” as the 
printers call these detached fragments of arti- 
cles. Eager fingers were anxious to seize the 
waiting type, but incomprehensible hieroglyph- 
ics barred the way. Each glanced nervously 
at the other, then bent her brows again over the 
puzzling sentences. No hints of punctuation 
here, or of spelling, or of capitalization. For- 
tunate, indeed, were they when a single syllable 
of a word gave a clew to that word and its 
neighbors. 

Jennie’s paragraph was something about the 
French Revolution, and many of the words 
were made possible to her through her memory 
of Carlyle’s fiery history, which she and Henry 
had read together. Henry had once said to her, 
“ A printer can know nothing he will not some- 
times have occasion to use.” Jennie thought of 
that now. 

At last, after a fashion, Jennie was done. 
Miss Banks, less quick witted and well read, 
was struggling with her final sentences. Never- 
theless Mr. Edwards took what she had, and 
“ pulled a proof” of both hers and Jennie’s. 


SOME BAD COPY. 


!7 


The two girls watched him with eager eyes as 
he scanned their work. His decision was sharp 
and emphatic. 

“ Miss Rolland, yours is by far the best.” 

Poor Lucy Banks ! With that announce- 
ment down went her head on the dirty case, 
and she burst into a storm of sobs. 

“ O mother ! mother ! I cannot find work — 
I cannot — I cannot — and you will die ! ” 

Jennie’s arms were around the weeping girl 
in an instant. 

“ Why, dear, what is it? Do you need the 
work so much, so very much? ” 

“Mother is sick — so sick — and we have 
not even money enough to pay the doctor — or 
get nourishing food — ” 

And down again went the head of the sobbing 
girl on the hard case. 

There was an awkward silence, while every 
one in the room stared at the weeper. 

Jennie wore a perplexed look on her face. 
Getting a situation was even harder work than 
she had imagined. 

“ / need the job, too,” she argued with her- 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


. 18 - 

self. “ My mother is poor as well as hers — and 
I am the only one to earn money for her.” 

But quick as a flash came another inner voice : 
“ My mother is not sick, nor are we in any 
desperate straits.” 

Then went up a little fervent prayer to 
heaven: “ Dear Jesus, what do you want me 
to do ? ” 

So you see Jennie did not speak from mere 
impulse when she said, with a flush on her face, 
and in a very decided tone, “ Mr. Edwards, I 
cannot take this place — I will not. And you 
must give it to this dear girl.” 


CHAPTER II. 


SOME WORSE COPY. 


OREMAN EDWARDS did not know what 



A to do. This was a new experience — the 
chosen compositor refusing the place because an 
inferior competitor needed it more than she did. 

“ But, Miss Rolland,” he said awkwardly, 
“ I do not want Miss Banks. I want you, for 
you are the better workman.” 

“You will take her, will you not, sir, if I do 
not come ? ” 

“Why — yes — but I don’t want her; I 
want yew.” 

“ Well, then, I am not coming,” and Jennie, 
with red lips pressed tightly together, turned to 

g°* 

“ Hold on ! ” cried the foreman. 

He was much pleased with the white-handed 
compositor, and saw a way out of the present 
difficulty. 

“ One of my regular compositors, Miss Rol- 


19 


20 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


land, is away sick. I am holding her place for 
her, but she may not come back, and your 
friend may have it until she returns, if she 
wishes.” 

“ Oh, I do wish ! ” exclaimed Lucy Banks, 
who had received Jennie’s offer with mingled 
astonishment and joy. “ Oh, if I can earn 
only a little money !• You have no idea how 
much I need it — I and my poor mother.” 

“ All right then,” said Foreman Edwards. 
“Be on hand to-morrow at eight, sharp, both of 
you; ” and he turned to the “ stone,” where he 
was making up a page, with the air of a man 
who had lost much time. 

The listening girls of the composing-room 
force, perched on their stools back of the slant- 
ing cases, looked at each other significantly as 
their foreman made his decision. Two of them 
found words for their thoughts. Said Grace 
Lawrence to her neighbor (Grace was a gentle- 
faced type-lassie, whose black hair made her 
appear still more pale than she really was) : — 

“ Good for Mr. Edwards ! How glad I am ! 
And I want to know that Miss Rolland.” 


SOME WORSE COPY. 


21 


Said Sallie Baldwin to her neighbor (Sallie 
had round, beady black eyes and the temper 
that usually goes with such eyes) : — 

“ That’s a sly trick, and a right-down mean 
one. Now Mary Norton will come back, when 
she gets well, and find this girl has sneaked 
into her place. It’s a put-up job between those 
two. They are a precious pair ! ” 

And Dick, for his part, simply looked at his 
superior, and briskly nodded approval. 

In the meantime Jennie and Lucy found them- 
selves together in the elevator, and, to the 
astonishment of the elevator boy, Lucy im- 
pulsively threw her arms around Jennie’s neck. 

“You dear, good girl! You were ready to 
give up your place for me. How can I ever 
pay you ? ” 

“ I am glad you have a chance to work,” 
answered Jennie, half crying, “ for you seemed 
to be very poor, poorer than we are — mother 
and I.” 

“ You poor, too? ” asked Lucy Banks. 

“Yes. Henry was supporting the family, 
and — Henry — died.” The words came out 


22 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


slowly, and with an effort. Are such words ever 
easy to say? “And now mother and Cousin 
Catharine and I have nothing but mother’s 
pension to live on, and that is only twenty 
dollars a month.” 

“Only twenty dollars a month!” exclaimed 
Lucy. “ Why, I should call that riches ! ” 

“ But now you can earn that much yourself,” 
suggested Jennie, “ and more.” 

“ Yes, indeed, thanks to you, you dear, kind 
girl ! ” and Lucy gave Jennie an impulsive 
kiss. 

This talk took place, the most of it, in the 
lower hall, and the new friends parted at the 
door, Lucy to her tenement on Slawter Street, 
and Jennie for the train to the suburbs. 

For Jennie was so happy as to live out of 
the noise and bustle of the busy city of York, 
and in the modest little suburban village of 
Weston, — a knot of pretty, old-fashioned houses 
nestling on a hill, a lovely river winding at its 
foot. 

The cars sang a pleasant song to our young 
printer on the way out: “Work — work — 


SOME WORSE COPY. 


23 


work — you have work — you are at work — 
out in the world — out in the world ! ” Nor did 
Jennie forget her gratitude to Him who alone 
sends all opportunities for honest labor. She 
was proud of her speedy success in finding em- 
ployment, and very happy in the thought of the 
money it would bring in to the relief of her poor, 
worried mother. 

But nevertheless, as she made her way up the 
long hill to the sweet little vine-clad house that 
was her home — every rich vine and every 
foot of the handsome lawn a memorial of her 
dear, dead brother’s care — her thoughts shifted 
from her own good fortune to the lot of the far 
poorer girl she had left in the city. 

Here on this fragrant hillside were freshness 
and beauty, a wide reach for the eye, kindly 
neighbors, all the hallowed influences of home, 
and school, and church. There in the distant 
city were foul odors, and fouler sights and 
sounds, brutal homes, sickness-breeding air, 
crowded schools, and, for a church, too often a 
corner saloon. 

Jennie was met by the sweetest old lady in 


2 4 


foreman Jennie. 


the world, whose eyes were as blue as her 
daughter’s, and whose hair had once been brown, 
also, but was now white. 

“Well, daughter, dear, how fares the world?” 

“I am a woman of business, mother mine! 
Just think of it — already ! And I go to my 
place of business to-morrow morning. Why, I 
am a foot taller than I was yesterday ! ” 

“ Good ! how grateful I am — to you, darling, 
and to the Father. But come in and tell us all 
about it.” 

The other part of the “us” was Cousin Cath- 
arine, a woman almost as old as Mrs. Rolland, 
and entirely dependent on her for support. Miss 
Catharine Tapley had had many a sorrow and 
misfortune to bear, and had borne them all with- 
out the Burden-bearer. As a result, her eyes 
were sharp, and her mouth was tense, and her 
spirit very unhappy. 

Cousin Catharine did not hesitate in her dis- 
approval when Jennie in her glib narration came 
to the contest and its conclusion. 

“ What a fool you are, Jennie Rolland ! 
Taken in by every impostor. How do you 


Some worse copy. 25 

know that that girl is not better off than we are? 
And what if she is not?” 

“ Why, Cousin Catharine, I could see that 
she was an honest girl.” 

“See? Humph! I suppose, if you had 
your year’s salary that your mother needs so 
much, you would hand it over to the first fraud 
that asked for it. It amounted to just that.” 

Jennie looked troubled, but her mother’s 
gentle voice reassured her. 

“Well, but, Catharine, it turned out all right, 
don’t you see? Jennie got her place, and the 
other girl got work, too ; so I think God must 
have approved of Jennie’s conduct. Why, of 
course He did, for are we not to obey the Golden 
Rule even in getting a situation?” 

To which Cousin Catharine answered merely 
with her favorite “ Humph ! ” 

Notwithstanding her mother’s comforting 
words, Jennie had a little worry in reserve, 
which she poured into her mother’s ears just 
before going to bed, Cousin Catharine having 
already retired. 

“Mother, suppose that other girl gets well 


2 6 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


and comes back, — and, of course, I cannot 
wish her not to, — what is to become of that 
poor girl, Miss Banks?” 

“ Oh, we will not borrow trouble, daughter. 
Let ’s live just one day at a time ; and you have 
lived to-day beautifully, I am sure.” With that 
she kissed Jennie good-night. 

Our printer was up betimes the next morning, 
“as a business man should be,” she brightly 
explained, and the conductor and brakeman 
were cheered by the happiness that shone in 
her beautiful face as she boarded the early train 
for the city. 

But if Jennie was happy, much more was 
Lucy Banks, who stood waiting for the elevator 
when Jennie arrived. 

“ Oh, my mother is better already, I do 
believe ! ” she cried, at sight of her new friend, 
without waiting for the usual greetings ; and as 
they went up together she chattered away to 
Jennie, telling of the nice things she had bought 
for the invalid on the strength of the salary 
she was to earn. 

The printing-office had a little dressing-room 


SOME WORSE COPY. 


2 7 


which was crowded with girls. They were 
wagging their tongues like magpies, putting on 
the black cambric wrappers they wore for much- 
needed protection to their dresses. As the new- 
comers appeared, a constrained silence fell upon 
the group. 

Gr^ce Lawrence was the one to break it. 

Going frankly up to Jennie, she said, stretch- 
ing out her hand, “ We are glad to welcome 
you, Miss Rolland, and you, too, Miss — ” 

“ I am Lucy Banks.” 

“ And I am Grace Lawrence, and this is my 
dearest friend, Bess Summers ; ” and so she 
went on, prettily introducing the company. 

Jennie found herself quite at home with these 
wide-awake, nice-appearing girls. She learned 
at once that girls may be just as refined and 
ladylike in a printing-shop as in a parlor. With 
a few exceptions, the compositors on The White 
Plume were gentle-voiced, gentle-mannered 
young women, intelligent, kindly, and capable. 
Not all daughters of millionaires possess these 
qualities. 

With the entrance of Foreman Edwards the 


28 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


girls hastened to their high stools. Much to 
her satisfaction, Jennie was given a place next 
to Grace Lawrence. Lucy Banks and Sallie 
Baldwin sat behind them. There were four 
girls to a window, back to back. 

Mr. Edwards passed around the copy with a 
jovial air. To Jennie it was all a huge frolic. It 
brought to mind, however, the many jolly hours 
she and Henry had passed over their types, and 
the tears would have come if she had had time. 
But now she was a “man of business,” and 
must remember Kingsley’s song, “For men 
must work, and women must weep.” It was 
with a little earnest prayer to her great Elder 
Brother, her undying Brother, that Jennie 
entered on her business career. 

But — how I wish I did not have to tell you 
what I must tell you next ! 

If Jennie’s copy for yesterday had been bad 
copy, this that Mr. Edwards now gave her was 4 
a thousand times worse. The writing was bold 
and plain, and every word seemed to burn itself 
into Jennie’s brain as she read. It was an 
arrogant and shameless attack on the Christian 


SOME WORSE COPY. 


2 9 


religion. It vilified as an impostor the Saviour 
to whom she had just prayed. It mocked at 
such faith as hers, and ridiculed its possessors. 
Jennie’s pure and sheltered life had never been 
sullied with such blasphemy. And must she 
begin her business life in this base way? 

There must be some mistake about the copy. 
She had read The White Plume ever since she 
began to read at all. It was a noble paper for 
young people. While it made no effort to 
teach religion, she had always found its pages 
wholesome and free from taint. 

But there was no mistake. She had the 
beginning of the article, Grace had another 
“ take,” and Sallie Baldwin behind her had 
what seemed to be its conclusion. 

What was she to do? It did not take her 
long to decide. 

Her joyful hopes of the morning came to her 
mind, her dreams of the household comforts 
she would buy with the money she would earn, 
her hopes of relief she would bring to her 
precious mother — yes, and she could not help 
thinking of Cousin Catharine’s sneers that were 


30 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


sure to come. But none the less bravely she 
took the hateful manuscript from the copy-holder, 
carried it to Foreman Edwards, and stoutly 
said : — 

“ Mr. Edwards, you may dismiss me if you 
please, but I cannot set this copy.” 


CHAPTER III. 


A MORNING OUT OF JOINT. 

ND why can’t you set that copy, pray?” 



asked Foreman Edwards, opening his 


eyes wide at our determined young woman. 

“ Because, sir, it is a bad article. It says 
dreadful things — shameful things — about 


Christ.” 


“ But who are you to set yourself up as a 
critic of that article — or any other?” sneered 
the foreman. “ Go back to your work, and let 
us have no more nonsense.” 

“ Please, Mr. Edwards, do not be offended, 
but it would be a sin to set up that article, — at 
least, I cannot help thinking so, — and I cannot 
do it.” Jennie’s sweet face began to grow pale, 
but her voice was firm. 

“Well, this is a pretty piece of work!” 
growled Mr. Edwards, annoyed to see that 
every one in the room was listening. “ Are you 
going to insist on proving every statement in 


32 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


every article before you will set it? Must you 
stop and calculate before you will let an author 
say that the sun is ninety-three million miles 
away from the earth ? Pooh ! ” 

“You must see, sir, that this is different,” 
pleaded Jennie, earnestly. “ The distance of 
the sun is not a matter of conscience.” 

“ Well, you seem ready enough to slip the 
burden from your conscience to some one else’s, 
for you know the work must be done, and some 
one else will do it if you do not.” 

Jennie had not thought of that, and she hesi- 
tated a minute; then she said, “I cannot do 
wrong, even to keep some one else from doing 
wrong, and it would be wrong to set that article. 
Please, Mr. Edwards, do not say anything more, 
but let me go home, if I must. I did not know' 
The White Plume ever printed such things, or I 
should not have come here.” 

“ That was not White Plume matter,” ex- 
plained Mr. Edwards. “ It was copy for The 
Leader, which is printed here,” mentioning 
a well-known infidel paper. “ I suppose you 
need not set The Leader matter, if you object 


A MORNING OUT OF JOINT. 33 

— not this particlar article, anyway. There is 
copy enough on hand to-day.” And he handed 
Jennie another bit of manuscript. 

Sallie Baldwin spoke up sharply. 

“ I had as lief take that as not, Mr. Edwards. 
I am no saintly hypocrite,” she added in an 
undertone, though loud enough for Jennie and 
the other girls to hear. 

Thus began what proved to be a very dis- 
agreeable morning. Jennie was not quite so 
sure of the wisdom of her conduct as she would 
like to have been. It made her uncomfortable 
to see Sallie at work on that blasphemous article, 
and to know that her protest had simply rolled 
the sin — however innocently — from her own 
shoulders to those of another. 

“Oh, what a tangled world this is!” she 
muttered to herself. 

Nor did our young woman of business find 
typesetting the romantic employment it had 
seemed when she and Henry had merrily 
worked at their cases in the breezy attic at home, 
with its beautiful window overlooking the wind- 
ing valley of the Waubeek River. 


34 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


For one thing, this type was so very dirty. 
Jennie learned afterwards that the type used on 
The While Plume was dusted over with graphite 
preparatory to making an electrotype, and that 
that was why skin, fingernails, clothes, and 
copy were so quickly ebonized. Her soft white 
hands were Jennie’s pride, and they shrank 
from the grimy bits of metal, that none the less 
speedily hid her fair palms with a shiny coat of 
inky black. 

Moreover, it was not half so instructive work 
as she had expected. Her copy was given her 
in disconnected bits, or “ takes.” If the 
articles would have had any interest to her, they 
lost it, presented in this fragmentary way. A 
place at the compositor’s case was not the 
university her eager fancy had pictured it. 

Then there was the poor handwriting ! 
Jennie registered a vow that all her fs should in 
the future be scrupulously crossed, and every i 
dotted. She determined to use only the black- 
est ink obtainable, and to put a wealth of space 
between the lines. She decided to learn a u that 
could not by any possibility be confounded with 


A MORNING OUT OF JOINT. 35 

an n, and an a that bore no resemblance to an o. 
She made up her mind to use no contractions, 
and when she had occasion to blot out anything, 
to blot it out so thoroughly that not even she her- 
self could read it. Many similar resolutions were 
formed by her, for she was filled with indigna- 
tion at the careless writers that waste so much 
of other people’s time and strength. 

Shrewd as Jennie was in the reading of poorly 
written manuscript, she was nonplussed several 
times in the course of the morning, and made 
some egregious blunders, over which Mr. 
Edwards frowned when the proof-reader handed 
him the corrected proof of Jennie’s work. 

It was while Jennie was returning from sub- 
mitting to the foreman her first “galley” full, 
and was bringing with her a second galley, 
empty and ready to receive her future work, 
that an accident happened to her. 

To reach her stool she must squeeze between 
Grace and Sallie. The passageway was 
narrow, and Jennie had her long, brass galley. 

The galley which Sallie was filling was very 
insecurely perched on supports that projected 


3 ^ 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


from the side of her case, and Jennie, unfamiliar 
with the arrangement, jarred the galley in 
passing. 

C-r-a-s-k ! 

Nothing is so startling as the fall of type in a 
printing office. Nothing in the world is more 
disheartening than the sight of “pied” type. 
There are so many hundreds of pieces, and 
they are so small. The hopeless mass on the 
floor represents so much work, and work so 
utterly lost. Indeed, it is worse than lost, 
because it is so much harder to “distribute” 
the type again into its boxes from the pi than 
if it were ranged in words and sentences. 

Jennie’s eyes filled with tears. The poor girl 
was nervous and worried, and this was too much 
for her. 

Sallie spoke up quick and sharp. 

“Well, there! That is what comes from 
having awkward green hands around. Mr. 
Edwards ! your new girl has tipped over my 
galley, and she must pay me for it. I don’t 
propose to lose my time and work through her 
carelessness.” 


A MORNING OUT OF JOINT. 37 

“Tut, tut!” cried Mr. Edwards, knitting his 
brows. “ I was in a great hurry for that matter. 
Really, Miss Rolland, you should look where 
you are going in a printing-office.” 

“ I am very sorry, sir,” said Jennie, who by 
this time had found her voice, though it was a 
trembling one. “ Of course you must deduct 
it from my pay, and I will be more careful after 
this.” 

“Fair words butter no parsnips,” muttered 
Sallie, but Mr. Edwards answered more kindly, 
seeing how near to tears were the blue eyes. 

“ Well, we will not cry over spilt milk.” 
(“ Pretty black milk,” muttered Dick.) “ A 
printing-office is a place to move carefully in, 
and I guess you will, hereafter.” Then he 
directed Sallie to reset the galleyful, and went 
back to the “ stone,” — the great marble slab 
where he was “making up” pages; that is, 
arranging the columns of metal that he took 
from the galleys side by side in a strong iron 
frame called a “ chase.” Each chase contained 
a page of the next number of The White 
Plume . 


38 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


It was with a sore heart that Jennie worked 
the rest of the morning. Surely she would 
have a good ending if that consummation could 
be obtained by a bad beginning. Her little 
black fingers flew with double rapidity to make 
up as far as possible for what she had lost in 
pieing Sallie’s galley, and yet she had set up 
only a stickful of her manuscript when the bell 
rang for lunch. 

This manuscript was pleasanter work. It 
was the tenth chapter of a serial story, “ The 
Peacham Boys,” by a very famous author. 
Jennie had read the first chapters in The White 
Plume , and was delighted to see the hand- 
writing of the author she had come to love. It 
might be that, except the writer himself, and, 
maybe, Editor Barton, she was the first person in 
all the world to read the new adventures of those 
fascinating characters. Our printer was be- 
ginning to get a taste of the romance and 
pleasure that do attend a printer’s life, in spite 
of all its vexations, and she was loath to leave 
her attractive task and go to lunch. 

Jennie felt reluctant to join the chattering 


A MORNING OUT OF JOINT. 39 

group of compositors, all of whom were gath- 
ered in the only open space the crowded room 
afforded, wisely seasoning their sandwiches 
and pies with merry prattle and laughter. She 
and Lucy crept off to a corner by themselves, 
but had scarcely become seated when two de- 
tached themselves from the main group and 
joined them. They were Grace and Dick. 

“The editor likes ‘exclusives,’” said Dick, 
“ but the compositors don’t.” 

“ Really, dears, you must make yourselves a 
part of the crowd,” said Grace, “ if you want 
to have a nice time.” 

“ There is nothing I should like better,” 
answered Jennie; “ only, just this once, let us 
four flock off by ourselves.” 

“ All right,” said Dick ; “I don’t blame you 
for wanting to get acquainted with us in detach- 
ments.” 

“ Do you know, Miss Rolland,” began Grace 
impulsively, “ that you touched a sore spot in 
this office this morning? There are some of us 
.here who hate that Leader copy as much as you 
do.” 


4 o 


FOREMAN JENNiF. 


“ It is foison” put in Dick with emphasis. 

“Well, why do you handle poison?” asked 
Jennie ; but, bethinking herself that that ques- 
tion was hardly polite, she changed it to, “ Why 
is such matter set up in The White Plume office ? 
The two papers are so very different.” 

“It is a long-standing affair,” Grace an- 
swered. “ Mr. Phillips, who owns The White 
Plume , is an old friend of Mr. Stevens, who 
owns The Leader , and that is how it came 
about.” 

“ But they do say,” added Dick, “that Mr. 
Phillips does not object to the profits from the 
Leader’s work.” 

“ Though he is a church-member,” concluded 
Grace. 

“And what does Mr. Edwards think of it?” 
asked Lucy. “ He did not insist on Miss 
Rolland’s setting up that article.” 

“ No,” replied Dick. “ Our foreman is one 
of the ‘ almost persuaded.’ He used to be a 
strong Leader man, always quoting its editorials ; 
but lately that Leader has not seemed to be 
leading him so completely.” 


A MORNING OUT OF JOINT. 4I 

“ And, Miss Lawrence,” begged Jennie, 
“won’t you please call me ‘Jennie,’ and not 
‘ Miss Rolland ’? ” 

“ Yes, indeed, if you will call me 4 Grace.’ ” 
And here the conversation turned to matters 
that do not concern the course of this story. 

It was with a lighter heart that Jennie went 
back to her case, for she had found friends. 
How much cheerier seemed the dingy old room, 
how much fresher the air, and how much easier 
her task, just because of a few kind and 
pleasant words, and the interchange of a few 
friendly glances ! Grace’s bright smile more 
than counterbalanced the scowl Jennie encoun- 
tered from Sallie, and the newly discovered 
comrades gave to the entire office an aspect of 
comradeship. For, though the old chemist 
sought it so long and vainly, the true philoso- 
pher’s stone is within the reach of every one, 
since kindliness will transmute all the world to 
gold. 

But, alas ! as the day opened, so it seemed 
determined to close. When Jennie took her 
“ stick,” and looked for the paragraph of the 


42 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

serial on which she had been at work when 
lunch-time came, she found her cOpy-holder 
entirely empty. That valuable manuscript was 
nowhere to be seen. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THEY ORGANIZE 



OTHING is more provoking than to lose 


^ ^ manuscript in a printing-office. There 
are so many pieces of manuscript about, among 
which it may be. There are so many drawers 
and pigeonholes and hooks where it may be 
lurking. The editor may not have given it out, 
and it may still be reposing in one of the myriad 
compartments of his desk. The foreman may 
not have given it out, and it may still be in one 
of the copy-drawers or on one of the copy- 
hooks. The compositors may not have handed 
it in, and it may yet be found in some copy- 
holder, underneath some galley, or behind some 
case. Finally, the poor proof-reader may be to 
blame, and the luckless bit of paper so eagerly 
pursued may be among the great piles of carbon- 
befouled manuscript that are always littering his 
table and cramming his pigeonholes. 

In this case, however, there was no doubt 


43 


44 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


about the person. Jennie knew that she had 
received the missing chapter of the serial from 
the foreman, and had begun to set it before 
lunch. The only question was, What had 
become of it? 

The head of the printing-office fussed and 
fumed. He made all the girls examine their 
copy-holders, and peer sharply about their cases 
and in all the dark corners into which a breeze 
or a meddling hand might have conveyed the 
precious sheets of paper. 

“ Better if one was not so saintly, and was a 
little more careful,” grumbled Sallie, loudly 
enough for poor Jennie to hear. 

At length every possible place had been 
searched, and the foreman, full of chagrin, had 
to report to Editor Barton. That personage 
soon entered the composing-room in a great 
state of excitement. 

“ Why, Mr. Edwards, Mr. Edwards,” he 
cried, “ I would rather any manuscript in the 
office had been lost than that next chapter of the 
serial. We cannot think of sending out a 
number without it, and there is no time to have 


THEY ORGANIZE. 45 

it rewritten, even if I should telegraph. Where 
is the girl that was so careless? ” 

“I do not think I was careless,” Jennie ven- 
tured to stammer. “ I just left it in my copy- 
holder while I was at lunch, the same as with 
all other manuscript, and when I came back it 
was gone.” 

“ You must have left it carelessly, so that it 
could blow away. Have you looked out of the 
window? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” spoke up Dick, “ and I went 
down in the alley and looked over every inch. 
It is not there ; and, besides, there has not been 
any breeze to speak of.” 

“ Miss Rolland,” said the editor to her, 
sharply, “ Mr. Edwards has just told me about 
your objection to Leader copy. You did not 
find anything objectionable in that serial story, 
did you? ” 

Jennie turned white, and then as suddenly 
flushed with pain and indignation. 

“ Why, surely, sir,” she asked, half choking, 
“ you do not think I would destroy a manuscript 
because I did not like it? ” 


4 6 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


“ Indeed, sir,” put in Foreman Edwards 
quickly, “ you do not know her. She is quite 
incapable of such a thing.” 

“ There is no telling what religious fanaticism 
will lead one to,” sneered the editor to the fore- 
man, and then added, “ You must be careful of 
the help you get in the future.” 

With this he hurried off to send a telegram to 
the author of “ The Peacham Boys,” and to 
write an editorial note explaining that, owing 
to the criminal carelessness of a compositor, 
the usual installment of the serial could not 
appear in the present number. 

As the editor withdrew, the girls exchanged 
sly glances back of their cases. Sallie winked 
triumphantly at her crony, Jessie Williams. 
Lucy and Grace looked mournfully at each 
other and pityingly at Jennie. 

Our luckless young business woman heeded 
none of them. Heeded not Mr. Edwards’s 
excited conversation with the editor. Cared 
not about the final decision to substitute another 
story for the chapter of the serial, inserting a 
paragraph about a careless compositor. Paid 


THEY ORGANIZE. 


47 


no attention for half an hour to the fresh copy 
Mr. Edwards laid upon her case. And when 
she did begin on it, worked more mechanically 
than our wide-awake Jennie had ever worked 
before in all her life. 

Her eyes flashed fire and her heart grew hot 
when she thought of Mr. Barton’s insulting 
charge. She was filled with gloom and dis- 
appointment. Was this, then, the end of all 
her happy dreams of an independent, useful, 
and profitable service to the world? Was the 
world thus hard and unjust? 

At length, however, she grew to a gentler 
mood at the remembrance of Mr. Edwards’s 
defence. Lucy and Grace, too, reached over, 
the one to squeeze her hand, the other to pat 
her on the shoulder. It was not so bad a world, 
after all. It was not many minutes before she 
could pray for help to bear all evil for Christ’s 
sake, and the help came as speedily as the 
prayer. She took up her typesetting with a 
lighter spirit. 

In the bustle at leaving that night, Jennie 
heard a few words that showed her another 


4 8 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


friend, — just a few hasty words spoken by 
Dick, as she entered the crowded little dressing- 
room where was the only place in the establish- 
ment for the compositors’ ablutions. It took 
much time to wash the grimy hands, and there 
were always many waiting for their turn. 
Jennie had evidently been under discussion, for 
on her approach Dick’s voice rang out: — 

“ I don’t believe Miss Rolland was at all to 
blame — not at all. But some one must have 
taken it, and I would just like to know who ! ” 
Unwilling to go down in the elevator with the 
crowd of whispering girls, Jennie was lingering 
behind, when Jack Edwards, the foreman, came 
up, — Jack Edwards, who, in spite of his hasty 
temper, had as warm a heart as ever beat. 

“ Miss Rolland,” said he, taking our dis- 
heartened worker by the hand, “ don’t be dis- 
couraged. You have had a hard day, I know, 
but all days won’t be as hard as this first one.” 
Jennie’s eyes filled with tears. 

“ Then you do not think me to blame? ” she 
asked. 

“ Why, of course not. It is a mystery what 


THEY ORGANIZE. 


49 


has become of that manuscript, and a most 
provoking mystery, but no one has a particle of 
right to blame you for it. And, Miss Rolland, 
I want to tell you not to worry about that Leader 
copy. You need never set a bit of it. I am 
not a Christian — I cannot quite believe that 
story, you know — but I like to see people stick 
up for what they do believe. I admire your 
grit.” 

Just then the elevator came clattering up — 
these few words had been spoken by the eleva- 
tor shaft — and Jennie had time for only one 
hurried sentence. 

“ But I am sure you would believe in Christ, 
if you only knew about Him.” 

Jennie had a long tale to tell that night, and 
her beautiful mother was a sympathetic listener. 
So also was Cousin Catharine, who fairly boiled 
with anger at the people who dared bring such 
charges against a Rolland. 

“ That is what comes of mixing with common 
tradespeople,” she snapped out. “ I always 
said you would wish you had stayed at home.” 
And, indeed, Cousin Catharine truly had made 


5o 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


that cheering prediction at least five hundred 
times. 

The limits of this story do not permit as full 
a recital of Jennie’s printing-house experience 
as I have given of the first day. We must 
hasten to the events about which I particularly 
wish to tell you. Each day Jennie grew more 
and more to like her work. To be sure, there 
were many discouraging features. Some of 
them you already know. The dirt did not grow 
less, nor the copy any neater and more inviting, 
nor the editor any more reasonable, nor Sallie 
and her set any more friendly. 

But to balance all this and much more that 
was unpleasant, Jennie found many joys. There 
were her true friends, Lucy, and Grace, and 
Dick, and Jennie always counted Jack Edwards 
among the number, though he seldom spoke to 
her except in ways of business. And, further- 
more, Jennie was beginning to feel a deep delight 
in her work. It is a great satisfaction to watch 
the trim rows of type growing under the speedy 
fingers, the sturdy lines lengthening out into 
solid columns. The accuracy required is pleas- 


THEY ORGANIZE. 


51 


ing to a true worker, — the deftness of manipu- 
lation, the quickness of sight, the nicety of 
touch that can tell just when a line is loose 
enough to slip easily out of the stick and yet 
tight enough not to pi, the thousand and one 
fascinating little rules for the use of hyphens, 
and quotation-marks, and semicolons, and the 
like — for it is not ordinarily known how much 
of the punctuation of our papers is due to the 
careful and wise compositors — all of this, 
together with the knowledge that her patient 
fingers were contributing so truly and directly 
to the pleasure and profit of the world, made 
Jennie’s daily task a very joyous one to her. 

Before she had been in the office many weeks 
something happened that pleased her greatly. 
Grace appeared one morning, wearing the 
Christian Endeavor pin. 

“What! Ton an Endeavorer, too?” cried 
Jennie. “ How glad I am ! ” 

“ Yes,” answered Grace ; “I wore my badge 
when I first came here, but the girls — Sallie 
and her set, you know — made so much fun 
of me that I took it off. Your pin that you 


5 2 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


always wear made me ashamed of myself, 
Jennie.” 

Lucy was standing by ; indeed, the timid 
little girl was never far away from Jennie, 
whom she adored. (It should be said, by the 
way, that Mary Norton, the sick compositor, had 
come back, but Mr. Edwards had found Lucy 
such a skilful compositor that he could not let 
her go, and had persuaded himself that the 
office needed her help also — which indeed it 
did.) Lucy had been listening, and faltered 
out: “ I am a Christian Endeavorer, too, Grace, 
and I am so glad that you and Jennie are.” 

“But where is your badge, Lucy, dear?” 
asked Jennie. 

“ I — cannot — afford one,” poor Lucy stam- 
mered. 

“ Why, they only cost — ” but Jennie checked 
her thoughtless words, and kissed her friend 
instead. 

The next day after this the sharp eyes of the 
girls discovered something bright on Dick’s 
necktie. Indeed, that young gentleman took no 
pains to hide it. 



THE MEETING WAS VERY SHORT AND QUIET 




THEY ORGANIZE. 53 

“ What, you an Endeavorer, too?” exclaimed 
Grace, her eyes shining. 

“ Had to be in the fashion, you know,” Dick 
answered, laughing, and then added more 
soberly, “ I have been an Endeavorer for two 
years, and I am ashamed to say I never showed 
my colors before. There are some sharp 
tongues in this office, you know.” 

“ But I did not think a man would be afraid 
of such things,” said Jennie, smiling roguishly. 

Then a sudden inspiration seized her. 

“ O Grace ! Dick ! Lucy ! there are four of us 
now. Why not form a Printers’ Christian En- 
deavor Society? There is one in China. There 
surely ought to be one in America. What do 
you say ? ” 

“Good!” assented Dick; “that will be 
better than the Typographical Union.” 

“ How splendid ! ” exclaimed Grace. “ And 
we can meet at the noon hour, once a week. 
Let’s begin to-day.” 

Lucy said nothing, but her eyes shone. 

And so it came about that the little corner 
where these four had been in the habit of with- 


54 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


drawing to eat their lunch together, ever since 
that first day when Jennie discovered the corner 
for herself, became on one day of the week a 
Bethel. 

The meetings were very short and quiet. At 
first the bustling, laughing, boisterous crowd in 
the middle of the room did not even know what 
was going on. A few tender words from the 
Bible were read, and then each of the four said 
a few sentences of earnest prayer, thanking the 
Father for daily blessings and asking his help in 
daily work. That was all. 

It was after the first meeting of the Printers’ 
Christian Endeavor Society that Jennie noticed 
something to which she paid no attention at the 
time, but which she afterwards remembered with 
a great start of surprise. You must know that 
the building in which The White Plume was 
printed was an old affair. The White Plume 
office was in the fourth story. On the floor 
above and on two floors below great presses 
were constantly running, while The White 
Plume's own presses rumbled awa} r on the fourth 
floor. When all of these presses were at work 


THEY ORGANIZE. 


55 


together, the rickety old building shook “ like a 
ship at sea,” as Dick rather extravagantly put it. 
Till Jennie got used to the vibration it made her 
deathly sick, just like seasickness. Lucy Banks 
could not get used to it, but turned pale as a 
ghost on what Dick called the “ stormy days.” 

Once, Grace said, the city inspectors of build- 
ings had ordered the presses to run more slowly, 
but the order had soon been forgotten. 

By Jennie’s case was a crack in the wall 
where some one had stuck some “quads,” — 
small pieces of metal used to fill out lines that 
are to be left blank. After this first meeting of 
the Printers’ Christian Endeavor Society, Jennie 
chanced to notice that all these quads had fallen 
out. She picked them up, and found that two 
thicknesses of metal could now be inserted where 
only one had been before. 


CHAPTER V. 


A CRUEL FATHER. 

I AM sorry that the progress of my story has 
brought me to Pressman Joe. I should like 
to leave him out. 

Pressman Joe was the big, red-faced, bull- 
necked man who presided over the great press 
that roared and rumbled away all day, and often 
all night, in the room next to the composing- 
room. Jennie had to pass him every day to get 
to and from the elevator, and she speedily saw 
enough to disgust her with him. 

The foreman of a pressroom .can very easily 
make himself an absolute autocrat, from whose 
frown his wretched subordinates shrink and 
cringe as if he were a very czar. The over- 
powering noise of the presses, in the first 
place, serves as a sort of screen to hide his 
words and doings from the outer world ; and, 
in the second place, his services are so valu- 
able that he can presume much, for a good 


A CRUEL FATHER. 57 

foreman of a pressroom is, indeed, worth keep- 
ing. 

And Pressman Joe was a skilful worker. 
No matter how the number of the pages in the 
paper might vary, he knew at once precisely 
how to arrange the pages as they reached him 
from the electrotypers, placing them on the 
press so that each 44 form,” or set of pages 
printed at one impression, would fold correctly. 
He knew just how much ink to use so that the 
type might show up black and yet not get filled. 
He watched his wonderful machine with un- 
ceasing care, jealous of every bit of dust that 
settled on its polished surfaces. 

His most difficult work, of course, and that in 
which his skill was chiefly shown, consisted in 
4 4 making ready.” No matter how even the bed 
of a press or how careful the electrotypers in 
taking a mold of the type, the first proof of the 
44 form ” that is 44 pulled ” shows many inequali- 
ties of light and shade. Here a picture is faint 
and needs to be 44 brought up.” Here a square 
inch of type is projecting — a mere trifle, yet 
enough to make it very black. All over the 


^8 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

sheet are these irregularities of “impression,” 
hundreds of them. 

Now the sheet of paper to be printed is 
brought up by the machinery so that it falls 
between the inked type-plates and a great sheet 
of stout paper called the “ tympan,” to which 
pressure is at once applied. The obvious way 
of rendering the impression uniform is to change 
here and there the thickness of this tympan, 
which is done by a series of “ overlays.” 

Taking the great proof-sheet, which contains, 
for a sixteen-page paper, eight pages, say pages 
io, 7, 6, ii , 15, 2, 3, and 14, the foreman sits 
down with this before him. Rapidly he scans 
each page, soon covering it with an intricate 
network of marks. Every portion of the page, 
yes, every letter, that is too black or too light, 
is surrounded by a circle. If the blemish is 
very noticeable two circles are drawn around it, 
or three, or four. 

Next, with a sharp pair of scissors and a 
paste-pot, the pressman goes to work. Where 
the impression is too heavy he cuts the paper 
away ; where it is too light he pastes paper on, 


A CRUEL FATHER. 


59 


more thickness as it needs to be “ brought up” 
farther. Finally, this “ overlay” is attached to 
the tympan, another proof is taken, and, if the 
impression is even, the great machine is started 
up, full speed. 

I have described this work at length because 
it is an interesting and not commonly known 
process that enters into the making of every 
book, paper, and magazine, and also because 
you will understand the better how valuable is a 
man who can do this delicate work with care, 
thoroughness, and the feeling of an artist. 

Our Jennie was fascinated by the press, and 
especially by this really fine work of “ making 
ready.” She often lingered to watch the pro- 
cess. With a girl’s eye for nice details, she 
gained, before long, a familiarity with the press- 
man’s work such as Editor Barton — more shame 
to him ! — would never have gained, though he 
passed the machines twice a day throughout a 
millennium. 

And she became familiar also with the brutal 
character of Pressman Joe. The “feeder” of 
the press was a stout and stupid young man, 


6o 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


whom he was never tired of badgering. The 
feeder’s work was monotonous in the extreme, — 
to push sheet after sheet down into the gaping 
jaws of the press ; but his harsh master made it 
tenfold more onerous with his ceaseless outbursts 
of spiteful temper. 

Jennie’s indignation was chiefly excited, how- 
ever, by Pressman Joe’s treatment of Harry. 

Harry was the lad whose business it was, when 
the accumulation of printed sheets reached a 
certain height, to take them out of the way of 
the press, laying them in great piles by its side. 
This was heavy work for a boy as slight as 
Harry, but still more heavy under Foreman Joe. 

“Oh,” thought Jennie, as she watched the 
two, “ what a terrible thing it is to be obliged to 
work with a brute ! ” 

The secret of it? Foreman Joe was, as the 
euphemistic phrase is, “a drinking man.” 

One day, as Jennie came in from her regular 
noonday “ constitutional,” she saw a sight that 
made her cheeks tingle and her blue eyes 
flash. Harry was in a corner, his face pale as 
the pile of white paper against which he was 


A CRUEL FATHER. 6l 

pushed, while over him Pressman Joe held a 
piece of wood. Down it crashed on the boy’s 
head. 

“ I’ll teach you to sass me, you — ” and up 
went the stick for another blow, while the other 
brawny hand clutched the fainting lad to keep 
him upright. 

“ Stop ! stop ! stop ! ” screamed Jennie, rush- 
ing up and seizing the cruel club with her slender 
hands. “ Stop ! What do you mean, sir? Shame 
on you, beating a little boy like that ! ” 

“ Get out of here, you meddler ! Mind your 
own business ! I’m his father, and I guess I 
know what’s good for him. Get out ! ” 

“ His father? Then it’s ten times worse. 
Put down that stick, sir, and let that boy go, or 
I’ll call in those who’ll make you. You are 
drunk, sir. I can see that. Let go of that 
boy.” 

Sullenly Pressman Joe turned away, mutter- 
ing curses on Jennie and on his son, while 
Harry, trembling and in pain, applied himself 
to a great heap of sheets that had accumulated 
behind the press. Jennie helped him with them. 


62 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


She saw that the lad did not dare express his 
gratitude, but it shone out of his large, frightened 
eyes. 

“ Don’t let him do it again ! ” she advised him 
on leaving, speaking loudly, that the foreman 
might hear. “ Scream out. Every one here 
will take your part.” 

On reaching the composing-room, Jennie 
began at once to tell her adventure to the girls 
who were gathered there, ready to resume work. 
Many were their exclamations of disgust and 
sympathy. 

“ Oh, why won't men let liquor alone ! ” sighed 
Grace, and all the world is sighing with her. 

But what was the matter with Lucy? 

As Jennie had seen her once before, the poor 
girl’s head went down on her type-case, and she 
fell to sobbing as if her heart would break. 

“ Why, Lucy, you mustn’t feel so bad about 
it. Harry is all right now. He’s a boy, you 
know.” 

“But — he’s — my — bro — ther,” said Lucy 
between her sobs. 

Her brother ! 


A CRUEL FATHER. 


^3 


“Why, then Pressman Joe must be — ” He 
must be her father ! Ah, what a tragic story 
that meant ! 

“ But I thought your father was dead, like 
mine,” whispered Jennie, her head down beside 
Lucy’s on the case. And she could not help 
adding to herself, “Far better for you and Harry 
if he were.’ 

“ He seldom speaks to me,” whispered Lucy. 
“ Often he won’t even look at me for days. 
That is when I keep him from abusing my poor, 
sick mother. O Jennie, Jennie, it is breaking 
my heart ! ” 

What comfort could Jennie give? What com- 
fort, indeed, could be given by the wisest man 
in the world to the daughter of a drunkard? 
Jennie could only clasp her tight and kiss her 
tenderly. 

It was not many days after this disclosure that 
Jennie had another exciting meeting with Joe 
Banks. It came about in this way. 

On Saturday of each week the compositors 
received their pay. Foreman Edwards figured 
up from their proofs the work that each had 


6 4 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


done, made out little slips certifying the amounts 
due, and gave them these to present to the treas- 
urer. But on one Saturday afternoon, when 
Lucy applied for her slip, Jack said to her, 
“ Why, Miss Banks, Pressman Joe has your 
slip. He demanded it at noon. I never knew 
before that he was your father.” 

At this poor Lucy broke down again. 

“ Oh, he has always had Harry’s pay, and 
now he has mine, and what will mother do 
now ? ” 

Jennie was at hand. Indeed, all the girls 
were crowding around in merry rivalry as to 
who would first get her slip. 

“ Mr. Edwards,” she asked indignantly, 
“ did you let that drunken beast have this poor 
girl’s earnings ? ” 

“Why, yes! What could I do? She isn’t 
of age.” 

Jennie, like all women, refused to exalt law 
over justice. 

“I am going right off to see Mr. Arden,” she 
declared. 

Mr. Arden was the treasurer, and she was 


A CRUEL FATHER. 


65 


fortunate enough to reach him just when he was 
about to pay Pressman Joe not only his own 
earnings and Harry’s, but Lucy’s also, that he 
might spend it all, doubtless, in a Sunday spree. 

“ Mr. Arden ! ” burst in Jennie ; “ that man 
has no right to Lucy’s pay, or Harry’s. Don’t 
give it to him, please.” 

Joe Banks turned on her fiercely. “ You 
meddling again? ” and he hissed an oath at her. 

“ No more of that, sir,” said Mr. Arden. 
He spoke quietly, but Joe knew he meant what 
he said. 

“Well, Mr. Arden, they are both under age, 
and their earnings belong to me by law.” 

“I suppose that is so?” asked Mr. Arden, 
turning helplessly to Jennie. 

“Why, sir, don’t you know that his family 
will never see a cent of that money? He has a 
poor, sick wife, sir, and you ought to see what 
wretched clothes Lucy has to wear, and you 
ought to see him beating Harry, as I did the 
other day. The money you give him will all 
go for drink, every cent of it, sir.” 

The treasurer, looking at Joe, needed no con- 


66 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


firmation of Jennie’s words. “ But how can I 
help it? ” he asked. “ I must pay him his due.” 

“ It isn’t his due, what Lucy and Harry earn. 
He didn’t earn it. He oughtn’t to have it. 
They need it.” 

“ Mr. Arden,” spoke up Joe, boldly advanc- 
ing his hand for the money, “I guess I know 
my business as well as this hussy, whoever she 
is. I take care of my family as well as the 
next man, and if I do take a drop now and 
then it’s nobody’s business as long ’s I do my 
work.” 

“Don’t give him that money, sir, please!” 
pleaded Lucy’s persistent advocate. “You can 
have law on your side, too. I am sure the law 
would require him to support his family, and 
he doesn’t. You can find out for yourself, sir. 
What Lucy earns is all they have to live on, 
and now he wants to take away that.” 

“ Yes, that ’s so,” assented Mr. Arden. He 
now saw his way out. “ Here, Mr. Banks. I 
will pay you your own salary. And I will 
thank you, Miss Rolland, to bring in the two 
children to receive their pay. ‘ You’ll take the 


A CRUEL FATHER. 


67 


law on me,’ eh? ” this sharply in answer to Joe’s 
mutterings. “ Take care I do not take the law 
on you, for abusing your family ; for I believe 
this young woman here. I’ve been watching 
you, sir, and I advise you, as you value your 
position here, to leave the saloons alone.” 

And while Joe, red with rage, was signing 
his receipt, our gallant champion went off, 
radiant, in search of Harry and Lucy, whom 
she quickly brought, and watched them receive 
the money she had so bravely won. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR SURPRISE PARTY. 

ROBABLY it was suggested to Jennie by 



* her passage at arms with Pressman Joe 
and her pity for Lucy and Harry. Partly it 
was suggested also by her love for fun. At any 
rate, on a morning soon after the events related 
in the last chapter our compositor came into the 
office with her beautiful face more beaming than 


ever 


“ What is it, Jennie? ” asked Grace. 

“ What is what f ” 

“ Why, what makes your eyes shine so? ” 

“ O, I have a plan. Let me whisper it to 
you.” 

A putting of heads together, some eager con- 
sultation, a burst of happy laughter, and the 
great plan was set on foot. It was nothing less 
than a surprise party to be given Lucy. “ But 
not an ordinary surprise party,” Jennie ex- 
plained to all. “This is to be far better, — a 


68 


A SURPRISE PARTY. 69 

Christian Endeavor surprise party.” And just 
where this important distinction came in will 
appear in the sequel. 

There was a merry time letting the others 
into the secret. Sallie Baldwin and her set 
scouted the notion. “ Go down to give a sur- 
prise party on Slawter Street ! ” they sneered. 
“ We don’t choose to associate with such 
people.” 

Quite a number, however, fell in with the 
plan. There were all the Endeavorers, of 
course. Then there was Foreman Jack Ed- 
wards. Three more were eager for it : wide- 
awake, laughing Bess Summers, thoughtful 
Susan Armitage, and firm-faced Mary Norton, 
who always took things seriously, even Dick’s 
jokes. Eight in all. 

Then came some days of jolly consultations, 
sly winks and nods, and a general air of 
mystery that quite annoyed Sallie’s company. 
“Such fuss over nothing!” they scolded. 
Little parcels had to be brought in under cloaks 
and quietly exhibited. Dick, of noons, was 
working off on the proof press something he 


70 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


would let no one see but Jennie. Even Fore- 
man Edwards had his part in the frolic. 

When the appointed evening came these 
eight, on one pretext and another, lingered 
behind the rest, took supper together at a 
restaurant (and a gay meal it was, you may be 
sure), boarded a street-car, and rolled, a rollick- 
ing party, down to Slawter Street. All of our 
company lived in far better quarters than this 
degraded district of the city. Even Jack Ed- 
wards and Dick, restless explorers of city 
streets, were unfamiliar with this lowest depth 
of tenement house life. To the girls it was 
altogether strange and horrible. 

“ It can’t be that our neat and gentle Lucy is 
buried in all this filth and ugliness ! ” said Mary 
Norton, as the party left the cars at the foot of 
Slawter Street and took their way along that 
wretched thoroughfare. It was early dusk, and 
everywhere they saw signs of the beginning of 
that revel of drunkenness and of the foulest sins 
that pollutes the nights of all slums. Every- 
where, too, were signs of poverty, neglect, and 
the abandonment of despair. Steps were 


A SURPRISE PARTY. 7 1 

rickety, doors racked, window blinds swinging 
from one hinge. Children, playing in the 
gutters and alleys, shouted to each other words 
as foul as the refuse in which they played. 
Saloons were neighbored by saloons, and about 
each counter stood crowds of boisterous, bloated 
men. From the houses came sounds of quarrel- 
ing, and now and then the scream of a child. 

As they drew near Lucy’s number Dick’s 
sharp eyes saw Pressman Joe swagger into a 
saloon. “ He’ll not interrupt us, anyway,” was 
his comment. 

44 The Bankses, is it? And will yez follow 
me? ” said a good-natured Irish woman of whom 
our eight made inquiries ; and they were glad 
to escape from the attention aroused in the 
street by so much unwonted respectability, and 
to follow their broad-faced guide up the shaking 
stairway of the tenement, past many disclosures 
of utter poverty as they glanced through half- 
open doorways, to the fourth story, where Dick 
rapped on a designated door. 

4 4 Oh, this is worse than I ever imagined!” 
sighed Jennie to herself, as she thought of her 


72 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


beautiful home on top of the hill at Weston, 
with its outlook over the winding Waubeek 
River, and all the fresh prettiness of its surround- 
ings. “ And what am I, to deserve such bless- 
ings more than this dear Lucy? ” 

But the door was opened. 

“Why, Mr. Edwards! And Jennie! And 
Grace ! And — why — what — ” Lucy was 
entirely overcome with astonishment, and was 
herself led by her guests, all talking at once, 
into the rooms the Banks family occupied. 
These were few, indeed, — only two, — and 
poorly enough furnished, but, in place of the 
neglect shown elsewhere on Slawter Street, here 
were all the evidences of the most faithful care. 

Mrs. Banks, with a feeble exclamation, half 
rose from her bed in the corner, but Jennie flew 
to the sick woman. 

“You are Lucy’s mother, I know, and we 
are just a few of Lucy’s friends, come to give 
her a little surprise.” With this Jennie put her 
arm about her, kissed the pallid, refined face, 
and drew her gently down upon the bed again. 

“ Now don’t be disturbed, please, but just 


A SURPRISE PARTY. ^3 

look on. How we all wish you could get up 
and play our games with us ! ” 

In the meantime Harry and Lucy had laid 
away hats and cloaks in the other room, and 
had found chairs of some sort for all the com- 
pany, Dick and Jack greatly aiding this feat by 
insisting that, when they were on a lark and 
could do as they pleased, they always sat on 
stools. 

Before any constraint could fall upon the 
company Jack introduced Jennie as mistress of 
ceremonies, and Jennie produced a box filled 
with square bits of cardboard, each bearing a 
plain letter, neatly printed. 

“Ah, that’s what Dick has been doing of 
noons ! ” they all exclaimed. 

Following Jennie’s instructions, the merry 
party gathered about the dining-table, which 
was drawn into the center of the room, and 
proceeded to play “ pi.” 

“ This is a game,” explained the mistress of 
ceremonies, “that is especially appropriate for 
printers, and for other people who happen to 
have their wits about them. I scatter this great 


74 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


pile of letters, face up, in the center of the 
table. Now, when I give the word, ‘ One, two, 
three, go ! ’ you must all begin to play at once, 
in this way : You must draw from the pile one 
letter at a time, and build up words in front of 
you. Your word must have more than two 
letters. You must finish one word before you 
begin the next, and must dispose of each letter 
before you draw another. 

“ Suppose we find we can’t dispose of it, after 
all?” 

“You shouldn’t take a letter that won’t fit into 
some of your words ; but, if you do, put it back 
into the pile and draw again.” 

“ And if we want to add to a word already 
made, or change it in any way, may we?” 

“ Yes. The longer your words are, the better 
for you, for towards your score a three-letter 
word counts five, a four-letter word ten, a five- 
letter word fifteen, and so on.” 

“ Who wins? ” 

“ The one who has made the largest score 
when all the letters are drawn. Now do you all 
understand? Then one — two — three — go ! ” 


A SURPRISE PARTY. 


75 


“ Pi,” indeed, seemed rightly named. Such 
wild pouncing after letters ! Such disgust when 
the needed letters were appropriated by other 
players ! Such eager scanning of the alpha- 
betical maze for the next letter needed to build 
a word ! Printers’ eyes must be keen, and our 
ten were finely off in that respect, — not a pair 
of glasses among them, — but this game was a 
severe test of their acuteness. 

And after all it was not the most brilliant 
player that won this game, or even the one who 
made the most words. It was far-seeing Susan 
Armitage, who wisely stuck to a few long words 
until she had completed them, remembering that 
each added letter counted five. 

After several rounds of this brisk game 
Jennie asked, “Printers, did you ever play 
‘ composing stick ’? ” 

“Never even heard of it!” declared Dick, 
speaking for them all. 

“ Well,” explained Jennie, rapidly turning the 
letters face downward and then dealing them 
out, twelve to each, “ every printer should know 
that game, of course. First one player, taking 


76 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


any letter he has, and thinking of a word 
beginning with that letter, lays it in the center 
of the table. Then his right-hand neighbor, 
taking any letter he has, and thinking of a word 
beginning with the first letter plus his, lays it 
down beside the first. You mustn’t tell what 
words you are thinking of. And so it goes on. 
For instance, I might lay down an S, thinking 
of star. Mr. Edwards might add H, thinking 
of ship. Susan might add A, thinking of share. 
Lucy might add W, thinking of shawl , and so 
on.” 

“ When does it stop? ” 

“ When the next player cannot add a letter 
without finishing the word ; then the one next to 
him has a chance, and so on around the circle. 
If no one can, then the letters belong to the one 
who last added to the word, and his neighbor 
has to start a new word. The one who wins 
most letters is the victor.” 

“ But suppose I have a letter that will finish 
the word, must I put it down?” 

“No, you’re not obliged to; but if you do 
without seeing that you have finished a word, 


A SURPRISE PARTY. 77 

you lose your letter, and the player before you 
takes the word. Do you all see? ” 

This game was a little harder than “ pi,” but 
it proved very enjoyable to our bright young 
printers, who were all — thanks to poor penmen 
— trained in the art of capturing words when 
only two or three letters thereof were decipher- 
able. 

Accidental completions of words furnished 
much amusement. For instance, Harry put 
down S, having sea in mind. Bess Summers 
followed with C, thinking of scent ; Dick added 
A, his word being scar ; Mary Norton put down 
N, thinking of scant , and was quite amazed 
when Dick triumphantly swept * up the four 
letters, remarking, “ You didn’t scan that sharply 
enough, Miss Mary.” 

“Now for a more lively game!” proposed 
Jennie. “It’s name is ‘distributing,’ and it, 
also, is a printers’ game.” 

Once more the letters were spread out in the 
middle of the table, face up, and the instructions 
were given. At the word “ Go ! ” as before, all 
were to play at once. The object was to draw 


78 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


from the central store a complete alphabet. 
Only one letter was to be drawn at a time, and 
each was to build up his alphabet, beginning 
with A, in the proper order of letters, finding B 
before he looked for C, and laying down C 
before he took up D. In the meantime, of 
course, the D he had his eyes on might be 
appropriated by some one else. 

This proved very amusing. There were 
several complete alphabets, of course, but there 
were many more of certain common letters, like 
E and N, than of the rare letters, like X and Z, 
so sharp eyes and quick hands were indeed at 
a premium. 

Dick was the first to 44 fill up his case,” as he 
called it, and as soon as he had 44 modestly 
accepted the congratulations of his many ad- 
mirers,” he began to hint to Jennie that it was 
time to play 44 queen of letters.” 

44 Queen of letters? Dick, Jennie, where did 
you pick up all these games? We never even 
heard of them ! ” cried Grace. But Jennie only 
smiled knowingly. 

44 Very well,” she agreed, 44 it is time to play 


A SURPRISE PARTY. 79 

‘ queen of letters.’ Will you be the first queen, 
Lucy? ” 

“ I think you are the proper queen of letters,” 
answered Lucy; “but I’ll ascend the throne if 
you’ll give me the sceptre.” 

“Thank you!” said Jennie, with a merry 
bow. “ Well, you must go into the other room, 
and stop up your ears while we select a letter. 
It will be a common letter, — not K, or Z, or V, 
or X, or J, or Then the queen of letters must 
come in and hunt this letter we have stolen from 
her. You will have twenty questions, and you 
must question each of us in order. We must an- 
swer your questions, using at least five words, and 
none of our words is to begin with the chosen 
letter. From that clue you are to guess what it is.” 

“ That’s sounds hard,” said Lucy, “ but I’ll 
try. Shout loudly when you’re ready, for I’ll 
stop my ears real tight.” 

“ Te, he, he ! ” giggled Dick, as Lucy dis- 
appeared. “Wasn’t that done neatly? Now, 
intelligent compositors, is your chance.” With 
this, the entire company began to bustle franti- 
cally around the room. 


8o 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


Dick took Harry and Mrs. Banks, and ex- 
plained in excited whispers the plan of the 
Christian Endeavor surprise party. They had 
all brought Lucy little presents, he said, — 
“just something to remember them by!” — 
and had taken this way of presenting them. 
They were to hide them all around the room, 
and Mrs. Banks and Harry were to watch 
Lucy come upon them, one by one, after they 
left. 

While this explanation was going on, the 
company was indeed busy. Each had been 
inspecting the room and had selected a hiding 
place ; but good hiding places were few in an 
apartment so scantily furnished, and sometimes 
two had chosen the same place, making it 
necessary for one to make wild choice of 
another. Jack Edwards put a nice copy of 
Whittier’s poems, with its back to the wall, 
among the few books that stood together on a 
hanging shelf. Jennie laid in a corner, behind a 
pile of old papers, a pretty little work basket that 
she had neatly covered, and filled with all a 
needlewoman’s tools. Grace laid a nice hand- 


A SURPRISE PARTY. 


8l 


kerchief, with Lucy’s name daintly marked 
upon it in white silk, back of the worn sofa 
pillow. Bess, who had discovered Lucy’s sweet 
tooth and knew well that it was rarely gratified, 
found, by Harry’s guidance, the special cup 
that Lucy used, and filled it with caramels. 
Susan, led by the same eager pilot to Lucy’s 
working dress, hung in a closet, put in its 
pocket a pretty knife. Mary, who had collected 
the photographs of all the company and made 
for them a pretty plush pocket, tucked this back 
of a picture frame. “ If Lucy doesn’t find it 
soon, Mrs. Banks,” she whispered, “ ask her to 
hang the picture somewhere else.” 

“A — a — almost ready ? ” came in a muffled 
tone from the next room. 

“Why, you poor thing!” said Dick, who 
had been bustling around helping each to secrete 
her present, “ we forgot all about you. T, 
girls, T ! All right ! Come ! ” He shouted 
the last words, while every one scurried to a 
seat, and tried to look unruffled. 

“It must be a hard one?” queried Lucy, 
as she entered. 


82 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


“To be sure it is ! ” answered Dick. “ Oh — 
ah — er — was that a regular question?” 

“ Of course,” replied Lucy.-. 

“ Then I must amend my answer to the 
following : I rather reckon it be, ma’am.” 

“ O Dick, what a hint! ” shouted the room- 
ful. 

“ Yes,” said Lucy, “ your letter is either T, 
or B, or S, or I. No, it can’t be I or B,” she 
added, on reflection, “because Dick used those 
in his amended answer; so it must be T or S.” 

“Lucy,” said Dick, “you are a regular 
lawyer.” 

“ Whatever made you think of such a nice 
thing as coming here in this way, Jennie?” 

“ Why, how do you know it was I ? ” answered 
Jennie promptly. 

“ It would be just like her, anyway, wouldn’t 
it, Mr. Edwards? ” continued Lucy. 

“It certainly would, indeed, surely,” was 
Jack’s labored reply. 

“Aha, Mr. Foreman! I have been waiting 
for that S. The queen has found her missing 
letter. It is T ! ” 


A SURPRISE PARTY. 83 

When the laugh against him had subsided, 
Jack spoke up. 

“ As the last game closed through my fault, 
I suppose I ought to start another. Can any of 
you printers tell me what letter goes in swarms? ” 

“ B, of course ! ” said Bess. 

“ And which letter is the wettest? ” 

“ Yes, C ! ” came in chorus from all. 

“ Why not T? ” This suggestion was made 
from the bed. 

‘ ‘ Why, mother ! Good for you ! ” cried Lucy, 
looking delighted at the smiling face on the 
pillow. 

“ What letter would a mirror suggest to 
you?” asked Dick, suddenly. And when, after 
due consideration, they all gave it up, he an- 
nounced triumphantly, “ W ! ” 

“ Why, to be sure ! ” 

“What letter always goes to the right?” 
queried Grace. 

“ G,” answered Jack readily. 

“ It never gets left,” put in slangy Dick. 

“Printers’ delights?” This was Harry’s 


venture. 


8 4 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


“M’s!” 

“ Cockney stockings? ” This, after profound 
thought, from Bess. 

“ O’s ! ” 

“Miss Banks,” here Dick interrupted, “will 
you please help me out in a game / want to 
introduce ? ” 

“ Gladly,” said Lucy. 

“ Well, I shall need a cat, if there is such an 
article among your neighbors. I see that you 
don’t possess one.” 

“A cat? Well, what now!” cried all; but 
Dick insisted, and Lucy went to borrow a cat. 


CHAPTER VII. 


TYPE FAIRIES AND FUN. 

OU see,” Dick explained, as soon as Lucy 



had gone after the cat, “ I was so busy 


explaining things to Mrs. Banks and Harry, and 
helping the rest of you find hiding places, that 
I quite forgot to hide my own present ! Hence 
this maneuver.” With this he proceeded to tuck 
away inside the clock a neat package in which 
was a pretty pair of cuff buttons. 

“ But the cat ! ” they all exclaimed. “ What 
are you going to do with the cat? You’ll 
expose the whole plan ! ” 

“ No, I won’t,” Dick asserted, and made good 
his declaration, as Lucy returned, by inquiring, 
“ You see Miss Banks and the cat. What fa- 
mous character does the combination represent? ” 
Then there was great guessing, but all guesses 
were wide of the mark, so that Dick had to tell 
them, “Lucifer!” 

After the applause, Jennie asked, quietly, 


86 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


“ What would it have been if she had simply 
been asked to sing? ” 

“ Lucidity, mum,” replied Dick, without much 
hesitation. 

“ And if Mr. Caswell should appear before 
us,” asked the sick woman, “ bearing in his 
hand the vegetable of the Emerald Isle, of what 
Roman dignitary would you be reminded? ” 

“ Dictator ! ” answered Mary ; at which they 
all clapped their hands. 

“ And if Miss Rolland,” queried Jack, 
“should proceed to eat the potato, what verb 
would be suggested?” 

He had to answer his own conundrum, 
“ Generate ! ” 

“Jennie-ate! Yes, but where’s the R?” 
Grace asked. 

“Isn’t she Jennie R ?” answered Jack, 

thereby winning loud applause. 

“Talking about eating ” Dick sug- 

gested, with a questioning glance at the mistress 
of ceremonies. 

“Yes,” assented Jennie, “ it is time for our 
climax. Won’t you bring it in, Dick?” 


TYPE FAIRIES AND FUN. 


87' 


“ It” proved to be a large paper box contain- 
ing a supply of good things to eat, more than 
twice enough for the entire company. 

4 ‘There is a game about this, too,” said 
Jennie, while Dick and Mary distributed the 
viands. “ You each have, you see, one sand- 
wich, one orange, one caraway seed cookie, and 
one chocolate drop. Now, I will begin to tell a 
story, and I will tell it through the eating of the 
sandwiches. As soon as they have disappeared 
I’ll name some one to go on with the story, and 
he is to keep it up through the oranges, and 
pass it on to some one else for the caraway seed 
course, and the fourth story-teller must finish 
the chocolate drops. Now I will begin, and 
let me warn any one who is inclined to make 
his sandwich last too long that I have the 
authority to appoint my successor.” 

And so, amid many oh’s and ah’s of anticipa- 
tion, Jennie began. 

“ Once upon a time I was sitting on my stool 
setting up type. You may think that a common- 
place beginning for a story, but wait and see. 
All of a sudden I became aware that what I was 


( 


88 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


setting up was not the words of the manuscript 
before me. My hand seemed to move, in spite 
of me, to boxes I had no intention whatever of 
taking letters from ; and it was with the greatest 
surprise that I watched my sentence grow in 
my composing stick. And what do you think 
it was? This: — 

“‘Set up “ xwjvq” lay the word in the 
middle of the Z box , and see what will happen i 

“ As in a dream, I did just what the types 
ordered. As soon as the wonderful word had 
been formed and laid in the Z box, I saw stand- 
ing before me, his feet in that box, a being that 
I recognized at once as a type fairy.” 

“ A typical fairy? ” asked some one. 

“ No; a type fairy, which is a very different 
thing, as you will agree. For my type fairy 
was all made out of type, seemingly hinged 
together. His arms, I remember especially, 
were two capital N’s. One of his feet was a 
Z and the other an A. His head was an I. 
He did not give me a long time to stare at him, 
though. (Grace, if you stop eating to listen I’ll 
name you as the next story-teller !) 


TYPE FAIRIES AND FUN. 


89 

“ 4 What d’}^e want? ’ asked the type fairy, in 
a metallic, clicking voice. 

44 4 I don’t want anything,’ said I. 

44 4 Then you may have it,’ answered he. 
And, by the way, I soon learned that in Type- 
land, just as in the type we set, everything is 
reversed and goes by contraries. 

44 4 Do you want to go to Typeland?’ asked 
the fairy. 

4 4 4 No, indeed,’ said I. 

4 4 4 Then you must go,’ said he. 4 Take hold 
of my hand.’ 

44 That seemed such a very ridiculous request 
that I burst out laughing. Nevertheless, I 
touched the N he reached out to me with the 
tip of one of my fingers, which was as big as he 
was, and he seemed satisfied. 

4 4 4 Now, put the first finger of the other hand 
into the C box, and you’ll see,’ commanded the 
fairy. 

44 1 did as he ordered, and at once I felt myself 
shrinking. In alarm, I pulled my fingers away, 
but the shrinking went on. I felt myself stiffen- 
ing, too, at the same time, and I felt very queer 


9 ° 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


and unnatural. But in a jiffy I seemed all right 
again, and I discovered that I had a body made 
up of type, just like the type fairy’s. I saw 
now that his face had more expression in it than 
I had noticed before. I suppose I was in more 
perfect sympathy with him. 

“ In the course of this transformation we had, 
in some way I did not notice, got out of the 
office, and we found ourselves standing before a 
building marked on the front : — 

. JOOH03 

“ That seemed to me perfectly easy and 
natural to read, so I was not at all surprised 
when my guide said, ‘ I thought you wouldn’t 
like to see one of our type schools, so I brought 
you.’ 

“ The building was on our left, and to enter 
it we walked toward the right, which, at the 
time, seemed the proper thing to do. I suppose 
it was all of a piece with the contrary nature of 
Typeland. 

“ Inside I saw a queer sight. It seemed an 
enormous room, like the vast drill shed of some 


TYPE FAIRIES AND FUN. 


9 1 


armory. Here and there, along the floor, com- 
panies of types were marching in all sorts of 
queer ways. (Mary, as a friend, I advise you 
to hurry up with that sandwich!) They were 
wheeling at the word of command, breaking 
ranks, forming again, making columns of fours 
and eights, and performing a lot of evolutions 
that I never learned at the high school. 

“ There were awkward squads, that never 
got anything right, and tangled themselves up 
at every turn; and there were magnificently 
drilled companies that did even better than our 
high school boys, which is saying a great deal. 
Some of these companies were diamond type, 
some agate, nonpareil, minion ; but I noticed 
none larger than brevier. The captains — I 
suppose I ought rather to call them school- 
masters — were magnificent fellows, — great 
pica, every one of them. 

“ I was curious to see the reason for all this 
marching and counter-marching, and so I 
watched more closely one particular band of 
brevier. Soon I saw that every line spelled a 
word, and whenever they re-formed they made 


92 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


new words, and whenever they formed a single 
long line they spelled a sentence. It was very 
interesting to watch them, and especially to see 
how angry the great pica captains got when the 
words were spelled wrongly or the sentences 
twisted about. 

“ Soon they began to execute battalion drill, 
and that was still more amusing. A great, big 
advertising letter at one end of the hall took 
command, and, I tell you ! he made them step 
around lively. It was very entertaining to see 
them form paragraphs. Just as they were in 
the midst of this, and as one particular M quad 
seemed almost certain to miss his proper place, 
a great cry arose, ‘ The Green Hand is com- 
ing ! the Green Hand is coming ! ’ 

“ I saw a big green hand burst through the 
ceiling, its big green fingers waving frantically 
about, and lo ! the entire assembly of type went 
to pi ! And Susan may take up the thread of 
the story.” 

“ Oh, dear me ! ” groaned Susan. “ Well — 
the type fairy seized me, and, heavy as we 
were, we flew through the air, on, and on, and 


TYPE FAIRIES AND FUN. 93 

on, and dropped right down into type-paradise. 
Don’t make those oranges last long, girls ! ” 

“ We’d like to linger in paradise, Susan,” 
said Lucy. 

“ Well, you’d better not. This type-paradise 
was a vast plain, that stretched as far as I could 
see. It seemed made of marble, and I fancied 
at once that it was a great imposing stone. 
Everywhere I saw signs : 

.e8Afl0 3 HT HO ^33* 

“ ‘Well, this is a contrary country ! ’ thought 
I. ‘ Here we are told to keep on the grass, and 
there is no grass to keep on. Soon, however, I 
noticed another set of signs that proved to have 
more meaning. They were like this : 

,Sfl3 WOJ3 3 HT MOiq 


“‘Where are the flowers that we are to 
pick? ’ I asked the type fairy. Then he showed 
me some curious objects that I should never in 
the world have taken to be flowers. They were 
of type metal, angular and stiff as a cactus, and, 


94 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

instead of leaves and blossoms, bore bunches of 
type. 

44 4 Read them,’ said my guide. And then I 
perceived that each bunch of type was arranged 
in words that made a sentence. I read a good 
many, but there is only one I remember : 4 A 

beautiful face is like the perfume of great, white 
lilies, floating off into the smiling air.’ 4 These,’ 
said my guide, 4 are flowers of thought.’” 

(“Oh! oh!” from Dick.) 

“ 4 Now,’ said the type fairy, 4 we’ll go to the 
pentiary.’ 

“ 4 1 don’t want to,’ said I. 4 It sounds too 
much like penetentiary.’ 

4 4 4 We are going there because you don’t want 
to,’ responded the obliging fairy. 4 But you 
needn’t be scared. The pentiary is only the 
house of Master Pen. He is on the very best of 
terms with the types.’ And so indeed it proved. 
The pentiary was shaped like a gigantic ink- 
stand. Over the door, in the queer, reversed 
language of Typeland, I read, 4 Take brains 
with you, all ye who enter here.’ 

44 We were given a cordial welcome. The 


TYPE FAIRIES AND FUN. 95 

lord of the house, Master Pen, proved to be an 
animated penholder. His stiff topknot fur- 
nished the nib of his pen, and he had only one 
eye, in the middle of his face. 

“ ‘ Glad to see you, Mr. I,’ said he briskly ; 
and then, turning to me, he repeated, ‘ And glad 
to see you, Miss S.’ I was about to tell him my 
name was Susan when I recollected that, being 
a type, I was probably reduced to S. (Mr. 
Edwards, are you ever going to be through with 
that orange?) 

“ After some conversation Master Pen asked 
us if we should like to see his workshop. And 
when we said we should be delighted, he took 
us to a great room, along whose walls were 
ranged rows of just such plants as I had seen 
outside, set in leaden flower-pots, and covered 
with flowers of thought. 

“ ‘ Would you like to see a flower of thought 
growing?’ asked Master Pen. I told him I 
should like nothing better. Upon this Master 
Pen deliberately stood on his head, and began, 
in that position, to wriggle rapidly about on the 
marble floor. After a moment a gray liquid 


9<5 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


began to flow from his stiff topknot of iron-gray 
hair. It looked for all the world as if his brains 
were coming out, and I was beginning to be 
frightened, but I saw that the type fairy was in 
no way alarmed. 

44 This, gray liquid slowly took form and 
began to grow. It became a stalk, and then 
this stalk began to put forth the type leaves and 
flowers, one after the other. I never saw so 
strange a sight. All of a sudden, as we watched, 
a spurt of the gray liquid darted out at us. It 
wriggled over the floor like a rapidly growing 
vine. 

44 4 He wants an IS ! ’ shouted the type fairy, 
in the greatest excitement. 4 Run, run for your 
life ! 9 And Dick may tell where we ran to.” 

The young man designated had been provok- 
ingly slow with his orange, and thus he met his 
just punishment. With a comically wry face, 
he took up the tale. 

44 We sank — down ! down ! down ! — until 
it seemed to me we must have reached China. 
At last we tumbled over each other on the solid 
ground, and my guide said, in a tone of satis- 


TYPE FAIRIES AND FUN. 


97 


faction, 4 Here we are ! ’ ‘ I’m glad to know it,’ 

said I. 4 Where’s here? ’ 4 This,’ said the fairy, 
4 is type-inferno.’ (Jennie, you needn’t linger 
so long over every caraway seed in that cooky. 
I am positively going to call on the one who is 
last in finishing his cooky, whether a former 
story-teller or not. So there !) 

44 I looked about me, and saw a second great 
plain, but this was walled in by mountains that 
looked like vast heaps of paper. 4 Those are 
rejected manuscripts,’ sighed the type fairy. 

44 He led me around over the plain, and 
showed me what sort of types lived in type- 
inferno. In the first place, there were all the 
types that had been instrumental in pieing pages. 
These were suffering torments for their past sins. 
Then there were worn-out types, and imperfect 
types, and 4 wrong fonts,’ and old style type. I 
never saw such a jumble, except in a certain 
box of a certain printing office.” (Groans from 
the company.) 

44 And all these types were wandering around, 
looking in vain for types that fitted in with them- 
selves, so that they might gain some significance, 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


98 

and, maybe, get out of type-inferno into type- 
paradise. But no two types of the same font 
ever came together, let alone two or more that 
could by any possibility make a word. So the 
whole country was full of inarticulate sighs and 
groans. 

“ As we roamed about, I perceived at last that 
all these types were gradually drawing in to one 
point, where they appeared much closer together ; 
and I sauntered up to that spot. It proved to be 
a vast, circular pit, into which set a strong cur- 
rent of air. It was so strong that I was caught 
up by it, in spite of myself, and whirled over the 
edges with a clanking mass of other unfor- 
tunates. Glancing down in terror as I fell, I 
saw a great fire far below, and it flashed over 
me that I, like all the other worthless types, had 
fallen into the melting pot. Thank you for 
your expedition, ladies and gentlemen, and Mr. 
Edwards may finish the story.” 

At this there was great clapping of hands. 
“Good!” “Now we have him!” “There’s 
no one else to be called on!” “Take your 
time with these chocolate drops ! ” 


TYPE FAIRIES AND FUN. 99 

Jack looked master of the situation. “ It’s a 
plot, is it? Well, Dick left the story in a 

fortunate place for me. You may prolong those 
chocolate drops as long as you choose, and I 
shall have a story to match. For, while the 
great current of air roared in my ears, and the 
fire swirled fiercely far below, I fell down, and 
down, and down, and down, and down, and 
down, and down, and down, and down , 

and down, and down, and down, and — ” so 
Jack droned on, imperturbable, amid the ex- 
postulations of the laughing listeners, until the 
last of the chocolate drops, when he gracefully 
closed with, “ and down, and down, until I 

landed, with a great start of surprise, in my 

ordinary body, on my office stool, and found 
that, during a slight fit of absent-mindedness, 
my composing stick, with its half-completed 
paragraph, had fallen to the floor! ” 

“ Dear me ! ” cried Jennie, when the applause 
was over, “how late it is for printers who 
must be at work early in the morning. Let’s 
sing a Christian Endeavor song, and say good- 
bye.” 


IOO 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


“‘True-hearted, Whole-hearted,’” proposed 
Lucy, calling for her favorite. 

And so the happy company joined their voices 
in the magnificent swing of that hymn of hope 
and loyalty. With the seriousness of its noble 
thoughts still upon their faces, they said good- 
night, and made their way down the rickety 
tenement stairs, out into the squalor and open 
vice of Slawter Street. 

“ Oh, let us hurry through this ! ” shuddered 
Jennie to Jack. 

Along the dimly lighted sidewalk a drunken 
figure reeled toward them. As they passed they 
saw it was Pressman Joe. 

“ Poor Lucy ! ” sighed they all. 

“ Well, at any rate,” said Jennie, with a bit of 
satisfaction, “ we have made one evening happy 
for her.” 

“And for us all,” added Grace. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE BEST SOCIETY 


OUSIN CATHARINE and Jennie and 



her mother sat at their pretty breakfast 
table one Monday morning, not long after the 
events described in our last chapters. From the 
window, even on that first floor, the eye caught 
glimpses, through the trees and down the steep 
village street, of the beautiful valley of the 
Waubeek River, winding away below them 
through the hills. Within, all things were as 
bright and cheery as two such bright and cheery 
folks as Jennie and her mother would be sure to 
make them. All but Cousin Catharine. Jennie 
could make the mirror sparkle, and the silver 
coffee-pot shine, and the polished floor fairly 
laugh, but she could work none of these happy 
miracles on Cousin Catharine’s morose temper. 

This morning she was particularly sour, 
which was why Jennie looked rather frowning 
when her mother said, “ A Christian Endeavor 


102 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


social was announced yesterday for Thursday 
evening. What surprise have you in store for 
the society this time, dear? ” 

“ I really do not know, mother, what their 
plans are this time.” 

“Not know?” spoke up Cousin Catharine. 
“ Aren’t you on the social committee?” 

“ Yes, but they got up this social without 
consulting me.” 

Cousin Catharine’s sharp eyes flashed. “ I 
thought yesterday that I saw Maude St. Albans 
snub you. She is the chairman of the social 
committee still, isn’t she? ” 

“Yes, she is an associate member, but we 
made her chairman of that committee to keep 
her interested. I am afraid we made a mistake. 
I am the only active member of the commit- 
tee.” 

“Jennie,” pursued Cousin Catharine merci- 
lessly, “ aren’t the girls ‘ cutting’ you, now you 
have become a — a — printer, just as I said they 
would ? ” 

“Why, yes, Cousin Catharine, I suppose 
Maude and her set are ‘ cutting me,’ come to 


THE BEST SOCIETY. IO3 

think of it, but no one whose opinion I care a 
fig for has snubbed me in the least.” 

“ Oh, dear! and just as you were getting in 
the best society, too. I did hope the St. Albanses 
were going to take up with you at last. To 
live right opposite us all these years and never 
get beyond the formal call ! And now you 
have gone and spoiled your chances ! ” 

“ Cousin Catharine,” declared Jennie, with 
some warmth, “ I don’t want the society of the 
St. Albans set. They care far more for money 
and fashion than for Christian character. I 
have a host of good friends — many more than I 
deserve — people of solid worth ; and since I am 
sure they approve my earning money to help 
mother, I am not going to fret about the aristo- 
crats over the way.” 

“ And you are entirely right, daughter dear,” 
said Mrs. Rolland, while Cousin Catharine 
merely said, “ Humph ! ” 

“Mother!” exclaimed Jennie, after a mo- 
ment of thought, “ may I not ask two of my 
printer friends out here to spend Thursday 
night?” 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


I64 

“ Why, Jennie, you are not thinking of stay- 
ing home from that social, are you?” 

“ Of course not; but these new friends are so 
nice I want to show them off.” 

This bold proposition, to which Mrs. Rolland 
readily assented, brought fresh moans from 
Cousin Catharine. 

“ It will be a direct defiance to the best society 
of the town ! ” she asserted ; but Jennie was firm. 

Indeed, it was as Cousin Catharine had 
shrewdly suspected. Since Jennie had gone to 
work in that vaguely degrading city printing- 
office, the beautiful and talented girl had dis- 
tinctly lost caste. Some of the “ aristocracy ” 
would not even speak to her. Among these was 
Maude St. Albans, who lived in the grand stone 
house just across the street from the Rollands’ 
pretty cottage. 

Alas ! that a Christian Endeavor society should 
put its sacred social influences in charge of one 
who is not a true-hearted Christian. This mis- 
take Jennie’s society had made, trusting to 
Jennie’s character to maintain the Christian En- 
deavor tone of the committee ; with what result 



OH, IT MUST BE HEAVEN TO LIVE IN SUCH A PLACE 




The best society. 


105 

our readers know. The first Jennie had heard 
of the proposed social was its announcement on 
the day before. 

The two whom Jennie chose to set before 
her friends as specimens of that dreadful genus, 
the working girl, were Grace Lawrence and 
Bess Summers. They heartily agreed to the 
proposed visit, and eagerly anticipated it. When 
Thursday evening came, the three girls had a 
delightful ride together out to Weston, the cars 
following the edge of the beautiful Waubeek 
River. 

“ Oh, it must be heaven to live in such a 
place ! ” sighed Bess, as, before entering her 
home, Jennie showed them some of the many 
points of interest in the extensive landscape. 

“ Yes, girls, it is,” said Jennie, as she led the 
way in, “ and I have often wondered how it 
could be right for a few of us fortunate ones to 
keep possession of these magnificent outlooks, 
that would be such an inspiration to thousands 
who can’t get them.” 

“Well, you , at any rate, don’t — ” began 
Grace, but found herself in front of Mrs. Rol- 


IO 6 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

land and Miss Catharine Tapley, being intro- 
duced. 

What the two ladies saw before them was two 
neatly dressed girls, each bearing herself with 
the quiet composure that any serious labor, long 
continued, is quite certain to give. Grace’s face 
was earnest and thoughtful, Bess’s was laughing 
and sunny ; both were frank and open, showing 
noble souls that expected nobility in others. 
One at least of the elderly ladies was perfectly 
satisfied with the “ printer girls,” and the other 
was compelled to suspend judgment. 

“ I am sorry,” said Jennie, “ that we must 
hurry to our meal and through it, but if we do 
not we shall be late at the social.” 

Indeed, as it was, though they made as good 
time as possible, they were late, and found the 
church parlors quite full by the time they reached 
them. 

As soon as Jennie entered she saw that some- 
thing was wrong. A constraint appeared to rest 
on the company of young folks that was usually 
so jolly. For former socials Jennie’s care had 
always provided some little plan for breaking 


THE BEST SOCIETY. 107 

the ice as soon as the Endeavorers entered. 
At one time conversation cards would be dis- 
tributed. At another, the names of famous 
characters would be pinned to the backs of 
each, all being required to talk to one another 
as if they were these characters, and each to 
discover, from the talk of others addressed to 
himself, what person he unconsciously repre- 
sented ; which being learned, his placard was 
transferred from back to front. Or, at another 
time, the members would simply be adorned 
with committee badges and bidden to talk with 
one another about committee work till the bell 
rang. 

No such ease-producing contrivance had been 
planned for this occasion, however, as Jennie 
found to her sorrow when she began to intro- 
duce her new friends to her old comrades. The 
stiffness of these introductions, in a few cases, 
she felt was due to something worse than the 
constraint of a badly managed social, for she 
had been forced several times to include in her 
introductions members of the St. Albans set, 
and she never failed to make it known, with a 


108 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

ring in her voice, that the lady-like strangers 
were from the printing-office. 

Of a sudden arose much bustling among the 
members of the social committee, with many 
subdued exclamations of annoyance. Soon the 
president of the society hurried up to Jennie. 
He was Jasper Knowles, a near neighbor and 
good friend. 

“ Well, Miss Rolland, your committee is in a 
scrape. How are you going to get out of it? ” 

“ A scrape? ” 

“ Haven’t you heard? They can’t come.” 

“They? Who?” 

“Is it possible you don’t know? Why, the 
quartette.” 

“ Mr. Knowles, I was not told anything about 
the plans for this social, and I am quite in the 
dark.” 

The president gave her a quick look of com- 
prehension. Then an expression of disgust 
came over his strong young face. “ Ah, that 
explains. I understand,” he said. “Well, 
your associates — who will not associate” (he 
could not help adding this) — “ hired a quartette 


THE BEST SOCIETY. 


IO9 

of concert singers to come from the city to 
entertain us. Bah ! And they have just got 
word that the soprano has a bad cold and cannot 
sing, and your fellow committeemen have be- 
come panic stricken and thrown the entire man- 
agement of the social into my hands. You 
must help me out, Miss Rolland.” 

Instantly a daring project flashed into Jennie’s 
head. “ I have a plan for a game,” she said, 
“ that I have been holding for some time in 
reserve for just such a predicament as this. 
There are, however, two long pauses in the 
game, which is a sort of contest. I have two 
friends from the printing-office in which I work. 
How would it do to ask them to fill these pauses? 
One of them sings beautifully, and the other 
is a fine declaimer. I have heard the other 
girls in the city go into raptures over them.” 

“ The very thing ! A Rolland to the rescue ! ” 
cried Jasper Knowles, and at once went to 
Grace and Bess to tell them about the unfor- 
tunate predicament and prefer his earnest 
request. They saw the need and cordially 
assented, not magnifying their importance, as 


no 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


so many do, by a grudging and tardy acquies- 
cence. 

Jennie speedily unfolded her plan to the presi- 
dent, and he, calling to order the already too 
dignified assembly, told them of the disappoint- 
ment of the social committee, and announced 
the extemporized entertainment, to which, in a 
true Christian Endeavor spirit, all were to con- 
tribute. 

“Everybody here knows some funny story, 
or ought to. Five minutes will be given you to 
decide on the best you know. Three judges 
will be appointed. These will hear, one after 
another, half of the society repeat their stories. 

“ If the judges laugh, they must pay forfeits. 
While the judges are deciding among themselves 
which is the best story of the first set, one of 
Miss Rolland’s friends from the city has kindly 
consented to sing for us. In the same way the 
second half of the society will be heard, and 
while the judges are deciding on the second 
victor Miss Rolland’s other friend will favor us 
with a recitation. The two victors are each to 
propose a conundrum, and the judges will 


THE BEST SOCIETY. 


Ill 


solemnly crown the one who tells the best. 
This victor will sell the judges’ forfeits. Now, 
for five minutes, put on your thinking caps.” 

The conclusion of this speech was followed 
by a merry buzz quite different from the sub- 
dued tone of the previous half hour, and very 
far from the brown study the president had 
advised. The plan of the joke contest struck 
the fancy of the society. 

The five minutes up, the judges were ap- 
pointed — the pastor, the Sunday-school super- 
intendent, and a young-hearted, gray-haired 
deacon, who was one of the most honored 
members of the society. These drew their faces 
down into a most comical solemnity as they 
ranged themselves in seats on the platform, the 
pastor defying the entire roomful to make him 
laugh. In absolute surrender, however, he paid 
his forfeit to the very first story, which was 
Arthur Adams’s, the roll being called in alpha- 
betical order. And this was Arthur’s joke, 
given in a capital Irish brogue : — 

“ Maggie and Pat were all alone. Maggie 
and Pat liked each other very much. Maggie 


1 1 2 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


and Pat were having a very good time. 4 Oh, 
yer a broth of a boy/ said Maggie. Pat’s arm 
stole around her waist as he replied, 4 I’d be 
better broth if I had a little mate.’ ” 

May Asten gave the next joke, which had a 
good point to it: 44 An old soldier was smoking 
his pipe in the presence of a lady. He noticed 
that his smoking annoyed her, and coolly re- 
marked, 4 They don’t smoke in your regiment, 
ma’am?’ The lady replied with spirit, 4 In my 
regiment, possibly ; in my company, never ! ’ ” 
Ralph Asten, May’s brother, was also evi- 
dently fond of a joke with a point to it, and, 
though his story did not extort a forfeit from the 
now wary judges, . it won their nods of approba- 
tion. This was it: 44 At the close of the Revo- 
lutionary War it took a large sum of Continental 
money to buy a very small thing. One day a 
wag was traveling and wanted to pay for his 
breakfast at an inn. Before giving the old 
landlady her money it occurred to him to play a 
joke on her. He had in his pocket a copy of 
the old 4 New England Primer,’ with its Shorter 
Catechism and its religious verses, such as 


TIIE BEST SOCIETY. 


II 3 

‘ In Adam’s fall 
We sinned all.’ 

He separated the pages, and counted out a few 
to the old lady. She didn’t know much about 
reading, but she looked at them closely, spelled 
out a few pious words, and said, ‘ That’s all 
right. I’m glad Congress has at last got some 
money with a little religion in it.’ ” 

So the contest went on through the alphabet. 
Some of the jokes were rather musty, to be sure, 
but young hearts laugh easily. No Endeavorer 
refused to contribute his share to the evening’s 
entertainment, that being part of the unwritten 
covenant subscribed to by this society, as it 
should be by every body of Endeavorers. That 
is, no active member refused ; but some of the 
associates that clustered around Maude St. Albans 
were so piqued at the failure of their plans that 
they would join in no new ones. 

While the judges were deciding, in another 
room, the merits of the jokes told by the first 
half of the members, Bess Summers quietly 
came forward to sing. She and Grace, close 
friends all their lives, had practised together so 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


TI 4 

much that Grace knew all her accompaniments 
by heart, and so it was Grace who, with no^ 
music, sat down, in a self-possessed way, at the 
piano. 

Almost with Bess’s first word the loud chatter 
that had followed the first series of jokes was 
hushed. Bess was especially fond of Tenny- 
son’s unapproachable lyrics, and delighted above 
measure in “ The Brook.” Her sweet young 
voice rippled through the beautiful lines as 
sunnily as Grace’s fingers tripped over the keys 
in the rare accompaniment. 

“ I come from haunts of coot and hern, 

I make a sudden sally 
And sparkle out among the fern, 

To bicker down a valley.” 

The song is one that sings itself over and over 
to the brain, long after the singer is still, going 
on, like the brook itself, forever ; and as Bess 
and Grace put all their hearts in it, no wonder 
they charmed their audience, and gained an 
enthusiastic recall. 

Bess’s second song would also be called old- 


THE BEST SOCIETY. 


115 

fashioned by some foolish folks who do not 
know that fine songs never grow stale, however 
stale the “ tarra-ra boom-deay” songs may be- 
come; it was Kingsley’s “ Three Fishers.” 

“ Three fishers went sailing away to the West, 
Away to the West, as the sun went down.” 

The tender pathos of this song of love and 
toil and death entered into every heart, and 
not a few of those who listened remembered 
that nowadays it is not always “ men must 
work, and women must weep,” but women 
must do both. 

Promptly the judges reported the victor, — 
Clarence Brown, the wag of the society, and 
then, as the generous cheers died away, the 
secretary proceeded with his roll-call. 

Jennie came in this half of the alphabet, and 
I am sure you would like to know what sort of 
joke she would select. Here it is : — 

“There were once in Glasgow three tailors 
in the same street. Of course they were rivals. 
One of them hung out a sign, ‘ The best tailor 
in this town.’ The second, not to be outdone, 


II 6 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

posted his claim, ‘ The best tailor in the world.’ 
What was left for the third tailor to say? 
Well, he was the cleverest of the lot, and got 
away with them all by putting out his sign, 
‘ The best tailor in this street.’ ” 

The joke of the evening was told by Ned 
Winters. This was not because Ned’s joke was 
anything remarkable in itself, but because Ned 
was by far the most bashful and solemn boy 
in the society. It was an entire revelation to 
all when, with spirit and with appropriate ges- 
tures, as well as with a capital imitation of 
French-English, he got off the following : — 

“ He was a French visitor and he said, ‘ I 
called to see Monsieur.’ The maid replied, 
‘You can’t see him, sir; he’s not up yet!’ 
Cried the Frenchman, ‘Vat you tell? I com’ 
yester’ an’ you zay, “Can’t zee heem, because 
he’s not down.” Now you zay, “ Can’t zee 
heem, because he is not oop.” I no compr’end, 
not at all, Mademoiselle ! Ven vill he he in zee 
middle 

All the jokes being told, while the judges 
were again consulting, it came Grace’s turn to 


THE BEST SOCIETY. 1 1 7 

entertain the waiting company. A perfect 
little lady she came forward, her bright face 
earnest with the message she was proposing to 
give, for she had chosen to declaim Lowell’s 
rare poem, “The Fountain of Youth.” Few 
indeed in the room had ever read it : — 

Tis a woodland enchanted ! 

By no sadder spirit 
Than blackbirds and thrushes, 

That whistle to cheer it 
All day in the bushes, 

This woodland is haunted : — ” 

Grace was in love with the beauty of the 
scene described by the poet of nature, and her 
glowing declamation, enriched with appropriate 
gestures, presented the poet’s wise meaning so 
truly and forcibly that she also was given an 
encore. 

Again she betrayed her love for outdoors, 
as well as her dainty taste, in selecting Shelley’s 
exquisite verses “ To a Skylark.” 

“ Like a glow-worm golden 
In a dell of dew, 


Il8 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

Scattering unbeholden 
Its aerial hue 

Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the 
view : — ” 

So she wandered on through that fairyland 
poem, in which is contained the very distilled 
essence of imagination. Oh, why is it that 
public declaimers will insist on mouthing “ Cur- 
few shall not ring to-night,” while a vast world 
of noble poetry lies all unhackneyed before 
them? Try the appeal to the most thoughtful 
and cultured of your audience, young elocu- 
tionists, and see if you will not win them all, as 
Grace did. 

Well, as every one expected, Ned Winters 
won the second triumph. He must have been 
shyly expecting this honor ; at any rate, he 
was ready with his conundrum, to cap Clar- 
ence Brown’s, this being the appointed method 
of deciding the tie. 

Clarence’s poser was this: “What is the 
difference between a sheet of paper and a lazy 
dog?” 

There was the usual pause, the usual wag- 


THE BEST SOCIETY. II9 

gishly desperate attempts at an answer, and the 
usual “Give it up; what is it?” to which his 
reply was, “ One is an inclined plane (an ink- 
lined plane), and the other is a slope up (a 
slow pup) ! ” 

Then came Ned’s turn, and with diffidence he 
queried, “What is the difference between a 
summer dress in winter and an extracted 
molar?” 

“ Give it up ! ” “ Give it up ! ” they all cried, 

taught by their previous failure.. 

But Ned waited for several grotesque guesses 
before he solved the query: “ One is too thin 
(tooth in) and the other is tooth out ! ” 

It did not take the judges long to decide. 
The palm was awarded Ned, as the deacon 
said in a comical speech, because his conun- 
drum was a little more youthful, because it was 
shorter and pithier, and because it contained a 
useful lesson in hygiene ! 

In the midst of tremendous hand-clapping 
Jasper Knowles placed a laurel wreath upon 
Ned’s head. This laurel wreath, by the way, 
was extemporized from twisted paper. 


126 Foreman Jennie. 

The laureled victor was next enthroned as 
judge. Undue and unwarranted levity had 
brought upon the parson the payment of two 
forfeits, while the deacon and Sunday-school 
superintendent had got through with only one 
each. 

As judge, also, Ned Winters showed unex- 
pected brightness. Indeed, Ned was the great 
discovery of the evening. One such discovery 
should (and could) be made at every Christian 
Endeavor social. 

He condemned the parson, as just retribution, 
to tell a story about a toadstool and to show how 
a girl sharpens a pencil. He sentenced the 
deacon, at once, and as fast as he could talk, 
to describe, in rhyme , — boiled cabbage! And 
he decreed that the Sunday-school superinten- 
dent should play on a comb “The Last Rose 
of Summer, ’ with variations ! 

The forfeits having been triumphantly re- 
deemed, decided movements here and there 
warned the social committee that it was time to 
dismiss the laughing company. 

Socials in this Weston society were closed in 


THE BEST SOCIETY. 


1 2 1 


as definite and orderly way as the prayer meet- 
ings. They were not allowed to “ fray out at 
the edges.” On this evening, at a word from 
the president, the society pianist touched the 
chords, the members rose from their seats, 
reverently sang the tender parting hymn, “ God 
be with you till we meet again,” and rever- 
ently repeated in concert their mutual benedic- 
tion : 

“The Lord bless thee, and keep thee: The 
Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be 
gracious unto thee : The Lord lift up his coun- 
tenance upon thee, and give thee peace.” 

With a merry heart Jennie escorted her two 
friends homeward. She was very proud of 
them, and very glad of the opportunity to show 
her Weston comrades what they could do, and 
how womanly and intelligent they were. You 
may be sure the story of the evening’s triumph 
was told before Cousin Catharine, and that 
lady’s gray eyes snapped at the reh&arsal as if 
to say, “ When the best society will not take us 
in, it is next best to show them how much better 
we are than they ! ” You will believe me, how- 


122 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


ever, when I say that Jennie’s sunny spirit did 
not mar the evening’s success by any thought so 
unkind as that. One of the highest proofs that 
one is in the best society is that one never worries 
about whether one is there or not, but simply 
lives the life God sets before him from day to 
day. 

Girl fashion, Jennie and her friends, who 
occupied two beds in the same large room, 
chattered till a late hour. It seemed to them 
they had scarcely gone to sleep, though it was 
really near morning, when they were awakened 
by those most startling of all sounds, the ring- 
ing of alarm bells, and the wild cry of “ Fire ! 
Fire ! Help ! ” through the quiet village streets. 
A bright light shone into the room. 

“ O girls ! girls ! ” cried Jennie. “It is the 
St. Albans’ opposite ! ” 


CHAPTER IX. 


COMMON SENSE AT A FIRE. 

TN a twinkling the three girls were dressed. 
* They met Mrs. Rolland and Cousin Catha- 
rine on the stairs. 

“ Mother, we three girls must go over to help. 
Fire is bursting out of the roof, and the whole 
house will go before they can get the engine 
from Croton.” 

“ Be very careful, Jennie, and don’t run any 
risk.” 

“ I’d let the stuck-up St. Albanses carry out 
their own duds.” 

You may guess which of the two ladies made 
each speech. 

Neither Mrs. Rolland nor Cousin Catharine 
was strong enough to venture out, but they 
stood at the window and anxiously watched the 
girls run across the brightly illuminated street 
and the great lawn that lay smoothly in front of 
the extensive mansion opposite. 


123 


124 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


“ Fortunate it hasn’t got below the attic yet,” 
cried Jennie, as they ran. Then added, “ What 
idiots people are at a fire ! ” 

This remark was called out by the crash of 
china, a shower of which was coming from 
one of the windows. Another incident she 
observed in that quick sweep, and could not 
afterwards recall without shivering. A woman 
was reaching out of a window to drop something 
on the turf below. Out of the window above 
was thrust a trunk, and Jennie gasped as the 
trunk came crashing down, striking just where 
the woman’s head had been an instant before, 
bounding from the window-sill, and splitting to 
pieces on the ground. 

Within the house were screams and con- 
tradictory cries. Mrs. St. Albans met them as 
they rushed up the broad stairway. Her wrapper 
was wildly flying, and she was carefully carry- 
ing down stairs — her brush and comb. 

“Oh, isn’t it dreadful P” she exclaimed. 
“ Do you know where Maude is? And have 
you seen Tom?” Tom being her husband, who 
was up attic with the garden hose. 


COMMON SENSE AT A FIRE. 1 25 

“ Mrs. St. Albans, may we help carry out 
the things? And shall I have them taken over 
to our house? ” 

“Oh, yes! Anything! Where is Tom? 
He might help me take out my new card table. 
He ought to know — ” 

“ Mrs. St. Albans, won’t you go upstairs 
with us, and unlock the drawers and boxes, and 
point out what you value most? ” 

“Oh, yes! Anything! Oh, dear, isn’t it 
awful f And I can’t think of anything in such 
a hurry. Where is Maude?” 

Maude, upstairs, was like her mother, in- 
coherent and moaning, out of breath with the 
excitement. Half a dozen men were there, 
the servants and the neighbors. Jennie went 
straightway to Jasper Knowles. 

“A crowd will be here at once. Won’t you 
stand a man at each door to make them form in 
line along the halls and up the stairs, and send 
the women up here to pack things? ” 

Then, while Jasper chose two young men to 
aid him in this work, Jennie, turning to Mrs. 
St. Albans, said quietly, “ The fire is in the 


126 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


attic, and I think we shall have time to get out 
everything before it reaches us. We might as 
well begin in this room. Please unlock every- 
thing. ” 

Quieted somewhat by Jennie’s composure, 
Mrs. St. Albans and Maude did as Jennie 
directed. In the meantime our three girls 
had snatched the bedclothes — it was Mrs. St. 
Albans’s own room — laid them on the floor, 
and were busily placing in them great piles of 
garments, rare laces, jewel cases, elegant toilet 
articles, the contents of chest and drawer, — 
rich vases and other costly and fragile goods 
being thrust safely down amid the cloth. 

These were tied in great bundles, and left in 
the middle of the floor while the girls went to 
Maude’s room. By this time enough women 
had arrived to make it plain to Jennie that her 
clear brain was more needed even than her 
quick hands. Bess and Grace had caught 
the method, moreover, and Jennie asked Grace 
to see to the work in Maude’s room, directing 
the excited neighbors, while she herself went 
on. 


COMMON SENSE AT A FIRE. 1 27 

In the same way Bess and Mrs. St. Albans 
were left to clear the linen room with the help 
of a few women, and Jennie, armed with the 
remainder of the keys, opened doors here and 
there, and composedly set people to work. It 
is wonderful what a single ready mind and 
steady will can do at a fire. The true kings 
come out here, if anywhere, — the kings, who 
can (I hope you remember your Carlyle). 
Before Jennie reached a room it was all a noisy 
tangle of people running against one another, 
loading each other’s arms, and excitedly de- 
bating what ought to be saved. The very sight 
of the capacious sheets spread on the floor in- 
spired every one with the possibility of saving 
everything, and showed how it could be done. 

Ralph Knowles also was of the king-men, 
the can men. Stoutly resisting the temptation 
to seize some valuable article and carry it to a 
place of safety, he stood at the broad front 
door and formed the rapidly arriving men into 
a line, down the wide hall and up the stairway 
to where Jennie was at work, sending only a 
few of the quickest and strongest up attic to help 


128 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


hold the fire in check until the engine might 
arrive from Croton, three miles away. 

Speedily the great bundles came down along 
the line, handsome chairs, mirrors, toilet sets, 
pictures — it is absolutely marvelous how much 
can be done by system. These all were passed 
out to the crowd of eager helpers on the lawn, 
who soon caught the idea, and formed a line 
extending to the Rollands’ across the street. 

Men by the score sought to crowd past Ralph. 

4 4 Let me in ! I want to help.” 

44 But there are enough in there already, and 
you would only be in the way. You are needed 
outside. Join the line.” Luckily, Ralph was a 
young man of muscle as well as mind, and his 
stout arm served to emphasize his words in the 
case of many a village bully and prospective 
thief. 

In spite of all, some of these incompetents 
effected an entrance, through windows which 
they smashed in, or through some side door. 
On reaching the first floor in her orderly 
progress, Jennie found one of this class in the 
library, a town loafer, absolutely beside himself 


COMMON SENSE AT A FIRE. 1 29 

with fire frenzy. He was climbing up on chairs 
and wildly sweeping whole shelves full of beau- 
tiful books on the floor. 

“What are you about, sir?” demanded 
Jennie. “ Don’t you see that it will take a 
great deal longer to gather them up from there? ” 

The man gave a frantic howl, “Fire!” and 
sprang at another shelf. Some of the elegant 
volumes split in two as they were dashed against 
the hardwood floor. Jennie had to call Jasper to 
subdue the fire-crazed fellow. 

In the library were many large rugs, into 
which the books were piled. Jennie’s eyes 
looked lovingly at their noble bindings, and she 
would have liked to linger in that room, for there 
were few things she enjoyed more than hand- 
ling books ; but Bess had taken charge here 
with Jasper, and she hurried off to the china 
closets. 

All the dishes in plain view had been thrown 
from the windows by the silly gardener at the 
beginning of the fire ; but Mrs. St. Albans un- 
locked the closets in which the most valuable 
table ware was kept and the safe where her 


i3° 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


silver was stored. Jasper’s thoughtfulness had 
sent out word that clothesbaskets would be 
needed, and a score of ready hands piled 
therein the costly goods. 

By this time the fire had reached the floor 
above, and volumes of smoke rolled down the 
stairs. The firemen had come, but too late to 
save the house. The crowd outside saw a 
danger never thought of by the eager workers 
within. The cornice was loosening. The roof 
was about to fall in. 

“Come out! Come out!” they screamed; 
but their voices were drowned by the angry roar 
of the flames. 

A fireman ran in from the engine throbbing 
on the lawn. 

“All out! All out!” he shouted. “The 
roof is falling ! All out ! ” 

Jennie looked around her, loath to leave. 
The fire had as yet appeared nowhere on that 
floor. It seemed perfectly safe, and there was 
so much yet to save ! 

“ Come,” said Ralph, taking her by the arm. 
“They say we are in great danger if we stay 


COMMON SENSE AT A FIRE. 131 

in here a moment longer.” And Jennie re- 
luctantly left the doomed house. 

On reaching the lawn, where she found Bess 
and Grace, she saw her past peril with a 
shudder. Flames were billowing out from the 
second-story windows. The roof seemed to 
rise and fall with the fierceness of the im- 
prisoned flatnes. Even as she gazed there was 
a great crash, the roof parted, wavered, sank 
crashing down to the cellar, and a vast swirl of 
fire-demons rushed exultantly into the air. 

Jennie turned away shivering. “ Come, 
girls. Mother will be terribly worried.” 

In this she was right. Mrs. Rolland had 
watched the fire with inexpressible anxiety, her 
lips moving in constant prayer, and it was in a 
very passion of gratitude that she threw her 
arms around Jennie on her return. 

Cousin Catharine also met them in the hall. 
“ They’re here ! ” she whispered excitedly. 

“They? Who?” 

“ Mrs. St. Albans and Maude.” 

To be sure, there in the little parlor, in the 
midst of a pandemonium of bundles and house- 


i3 2 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


hold goods, were the rich woman and her 
daughter. Mrs. St. Albans was weeping hys- 
terically. 

“Oh, isn’t it awful?” she cried, on seeing 
Jennie. “Oh, where is Tom? Was my set 
of Sevres saved? Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! Where 
is Tom? And my Valenciennes lace?” 

Tom soon appeared, red from his gallant 
fight with the fire. He took the matter philo- 
sophically. “We were fully insured,” he said, 
“ and I hear that everything we care most 
about was got out, — the things we could never 
replace.” 

Here Maude spoke up. She had been silent 
hitherto, not quite knowing what to say to 
Jennie; but Maude St. Albans, foolish as she 
was, saw things far more clearly in the light of 
such a fire as had visited her. 

“Father,” she said, “we owe it all to Jennie 
and her two brave friends. Everything was 
in confusion till they came, and they directed 
and managed everything so splendidly — oh, I 
never can tell you ! And, Jennie, I never can 
thank you enough. And how proud you ought 


COMMON SENSE AT A FIRE. 133 

to be of your friends ! And how glad I am 
that they were out here to-night ! ” With this, 
the young aristocrat went up to the three 
printers and hugged them all in turn. 

Cousin Catharine saw and heard this, and 
gave a “ Humph !” of satisfaction. “Jennie 
may get into the best society, after all,” thought 
she. 

It was early morning. The sky, that had 
glowed far and wide with that hill-top con- 
flagration, now reddened with the flames of the 
sunrise. Mrs. Rolland and Jennie busied 
themselves with the breakfast, while Bess and 
Grace assisted the homeless rich folk to find 
some immediate necessaries. 

A queerly assorted company gathered around 
Mrs. Rolland’s bright breakfast-table, but the 
strangers at once felt more at home than they 
ever had in the elegant dining room now re- 
duced to ashes. As Jennie ran over the long 
list of rooms she had seen entirely emptied of 
their precious contents, Mrs. St. Albans grad- 
ually ceased to moan, and a feeling of profound 
gratitude came over her. After breakfast a 


I 34 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


carriage rolled up to take her to the hotel, but 
she said, in departing, “If it were not for 
adding to your trouble, already heavy, dear 
neighbors, I should accept your invitation, and 
stay in your lovely home. You must let me 
come here often, now that I have found out 
how beautiful it is.” 

And Cousin Catharine felt that Jennie’s en- 
trance into the best society was at last assured. 


CHAPTER X. 


A TERRIBLE DISCORD 



HE Printers’ Christian Endeavor Society 


* grew and flourished. It made no striking 
efforts — indeed, it did not consider it neces- 
sary to have officers and a constitution — yet it 
gradually drew three others of the force into 
its circle. These three were some friends we 
have already made, — wide-awake, laughing 
Bess Summers, thoughtful Susan Armitage, 
and firm-faced Mary Norton, who always took 
everything seriously, even Dick’s jokes. 

The seven thus brought together made up 
half the working force in the office of The 
White Plume. The compositors were divided 
into two camps. Sallie and her party had 
nothing but ridicule for Jennie and the “ saints,” 
as she scornfully dubbed them. On Thursday 
noons, when the little band of Endeavorers, 
having finished their lunch together, bowed their 
heads in their corner — for the same corner was 


135 


136 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

still retained that Jennie had found the first 
day — and while their earnest young voices 
rose in softly uttered praise and petition, then, 
indeed, the jest and boisterous fun of Sallie’s 
band was for an instant hushed, in spite of their 
bold leader, who blamed herself for her weak- 
ness in yielding even this show of respect to 
the “ hypocritical proceeding of those fanatics.” 

As soon, however, as the heads were raised, 
and the Endeavorers began to tell each other, 
speaking in a regular order, about their week’s 
experience in the Christian life, their trials and 
triumphs, their blessings and troubles, the things 
that had hindered and the things that had 
helped, then the seven in the center of the room 
found tongue again. First came sly glances, 
then smirks of amusement and smiles of scorn, 
then loudly spoken sneers, each vying with the 
other in fancied wit. And what provoked them 
most of all was that the eager-eyed group in the 
corner, their heads all bent forward into the 
circle, really seemed not even to hear, still less 
to mind at all their brilliant efforts. 

This Printers’ Society of Christian Endeavor 


A TERRIBLE DISCORD. 137 

had been in existence some weeks when Dick, 
the inventive, suggested the publication of a 
society paper. 

“A printers’ Christian Endeavor society,” 
said he, “ should surely make use of printer’s 
ink ; ” and to this they all agreed. 

And so it was that The Christian Endeavor 
Composing-Stick came into the world. The 
type for this was set up at noon by the mem- 
bers. Each set up the article which he or she 
contributed to the paper. In this they had a 
distinct advantage over contributors to other 
periodicals. After enough had been set up to 
form a four-page number, the seven gathered 
eagerly around, all of them having a hand in 
making it up into pages. There was much 
friendly jesting as to which article should be 
honored with first position, and those who in- 
serted their advertisements all wanted, in imita- 
tion of the advertisers in The White Plume , “ top 
of column, next to reading-matter.” 

Finally, however, the pages would be made 
up and laid out on the bed of the proof-press, 
where Dick would work off in a few minutes an 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


1 3 S 

edition ample for the needs of The Composing- 
Stick's rather limited constituency. 

I think you would like to see a number of 
this unique Christian Endeavor periodical, and 
I will ask the printer to make an exact copy of 
one here. The initials appended to the articles 
will remind you of some friends. 


Ube Christian tEnbeavor Compostncj=£tick 


Vol. I. YORK, N. L., NOVEMBER 4, 1893. No. 3. 


PI=’TRY. 

BY KCID. 

Pumpkin-pie is healthy diet, 
Lemon-pie will keep me quiet, 

Hot mince-pie, O that’s the prize ’un; 
But printers’ pi is printers’ p’izen ! 


A BATTLE IN FAIRYLAND. 

No one in the composing-room saw it, 
but as the compositors came in in the 
morning, the air was filled with a throng 
of ugly little creatures, with impish 

faces, and claws on their fingers, and 
long tails with stings in them. These 
were the type goblins. 

No sooner had the compositors seated 
themselves on their stools than these 
mischievous beings got to work. One 
of them loosened the clamp of Grace’s 
composing-stick so that it slipped and 
almost pied her type. One of them took 
up several handfuls of «’s and dropped 
them in the u box. One of them covered 
up a whole line of copy from Lucy’;- 
eyes, so that she did not see it, and left 
it out of what she was setting. A great 
crowd of them, when Susan was not 
thinking what she was about, took up a 
case of minion and put it in the place of 
the case of brevier from which she 
should have been setting, so that her 
whole hour’s work was spoiled. 

All things were soon in a pretty mess 
in that composing-room. Every one 
was cross, even Mr. Edwards and Jen- 
nie Rolland. The type goblins were 
having it all their own way, and they 
were exulting. 

But all of a sudden — if we could only 
have seen it — there came into the room 
a whole army of beautiful little type 
fairies. I think they must have been 
waiting outside, and when pleasant- 
faced John Reynolds, the expressman, 
came in, he must have brought them in 
with him. 

These type fairies had the loveliest 
forms and faces imaginable, and their 
wings were all glittering with gold. 
Swiftly they flew at those imps of dark- 
ness, the type goblins. They drove 
them away from all their knavish tricks. 
They stood guard over copy-holders, and 


type cases, and composing sticks. They 
saw that the type we were distributing 
went into the right boxes. Everybody 
began to smile. Dick began to hum a 
song. Mr. Edwards even started to 
whistle, his heart was so light. 

Many thanks to the good fairies. 
May they come every day ! M. N. 


THE GREWSOME GRIFFIN ; 
Or, Knights and Knitting. 

BY S. A. 

Chapter III. 

Sir Launcelot to the Rescue! 

Our brave knight, with one thrust of 
his long sword, pierced the lion’s breast, 
and the fiery monster rolled over harm- 
less on the bloody ground. 

“Well done!” cried the mysterious 

voice. “Now hie thee to thy second 
task. Thou must win Lady Patience 
from the castle of Hard Work.” 

“I will do my best,” said the stout 
knight to the unseen power, and he 
boldly set forth on his journey. 

He had not proceeded far before he 
discovered, coming toward him, the 
most marvelous and absurd creature 
imaginable. 

It was a great griffin. Its wings were 
made of soft molasses candy. In vast 
clouds from its mouth rolled the vapor 
of chloroform. Its claws were fish- 
hooks. It was encased in an armor of 
sofa pillows. Its eyes were tightly 
closed. 

“Ho!” cried the knight. “This is 
an easy conquest.” 

“ Not so confidently,” warned the 
attendant voice. “ You see before you 
the redoubtable Lazy Griffin. A griffin 
more grewsome walks not upon the 
earth. Beware ! ” 

Notwithstanding, the knight boldly 
urged on his noble steed, his lance in 
rest, and before the griffin opened his 
eyes the lance was thrust into his side. 

But alas! what power has steel against 
a mass of feathers, or valor the most 
exalted against the breath of chloro- 
form ? The fish-hook claws caught the 


139 


2 


THE CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR COMPOSING-STICK. 


knight as, withdrawing his lance, he 
would retire for a second onset. The 
soft molasses candy wings enwrapped 
him and stuck to him. Grievously upon 
him was cast a cloud of chloroform, and 
our good knight went fast to sleep. 

The grewsome griffin detached a pil- 
low from his armor, wherewith to 
smother his slumbering foe ; but on a 
sudden arose a mighty shout : — 

“ Sir Launcelot to the rescue, ha ! ho ! 
hoo ! ” 

{To be continued.) 

MIND AND MATTER. 

A True Story. 

ILLUSTRATED BY AL. PHABET. 

Once upon a time a boy was engaged, 
rancorously and rebelliously, in sawing 
wood with a very dull saw. (Q the 
saw.) Wearily and wearingly wobbled 
the sawhorse. (X the sawhorse.) Tough- 
ly and tenaciously the stick of wood 
held its own. (I the stick of wood.) At 
length, languidly and lazily, the boy lay 
down under an apple tree. (T the 
tree.) 

Brightly and brilliantly glowed an 
apple in the branches above him. (O 
the apple.) Suddenly and swiftly, like 
an arrow, the apple descended upon him. 
(t the arrow.) Brutally and bouncingly 
it hit him in the eye. (o the eye.) 

Inquired the boy, sadly and solemnly, 
“ Why was I not born before Sir Isaac 
Newton? I should in that case have 
discovered the law of gravitation. How- 
ever,” the boy reflected, jauntily and 
jocosely, ‘‘if I have not discovered the 
law of gravitation, I have, at any rate, 
seen stars.” (* * * the stars.) 

The boy was so pleased with this 
witticism that he immediately proceeded 
vigorously and vivaciously to finish 
sawing the wood. This is an illustra- 
tion of the influence of matter (the 
apple) on mind, and of mind, in turn, 
on matter (the stick of wood). e. s. 


1TY FAVORITE STORY=TELLER. 

A SYMPOSIUM. 

My favorite story-teller is Sir Walter 
Scott, because he takes me into so many 
interesting places, makes me a witness 
of so many thrilling adventures, shows 


me so many noble people, and teaches 
me so much about travel and history. 

s. A. 

Dickens is Dick’s favorite. For 
why? Because he’s jolly. R. c. 

I most enjoy Pansy, because she helps 
me most to live closely to my Saviour. 
I feel as if I must have known all her 
characters well somewhere — I have for- 
gotten where. l. b. 

I like Miss Alcott best, because she 
always has so much good sense, and 
because the people in her stories have 
so good times. G. l. 

Mrs. Whitney pleases me more 
than any other story-writer. Her peo- 
ple are ‘‘real folks,” and yet they are 
more interesting and helpful than most 
real folks. m. n. 

I choose George Macdonald every 
time. He is so thoughtful, and brave, 
and true. I always think of him as 
Greatheart. j. r. 

I would rather read Mrs. Stowe’s 
books than any other stories, and espe- 
cially “ OldtownFolks ” and “ Poganuc 
People.” Her characters are so funny 
and bright. e. s. 

OUR HEETING. 

BY O. N. WEST. 

There’s a peace for the soul and a *.ght 
for the eye 

In our Christian Endeavor meeting ; 
There’s a lift for our burdens as Jesus 
draws nigh 

To the Christian Endeavor meeting ; 
There’s the shining of joy in the jubilant 
air, 

There’s a whisper divine that replies to 
our prayer ; 

And rightness, and lightness, and bright- 
ness are there, 

In our Christian Endeavor meeting. 

Ah, praise the dear Father who gives to 
the week 

Its Christian Endeavor meeting ! 

We pray for His presence, His blessing 
we seek 

For our Christian Endeavor meeting. 
For the work we attempt be that 
Presence the power, 

Our rainbow of safety in tempests that 
lower, — 

Love, wisdom, and life from that blessed 
half hour, — 

Our Christian Endeavor meeting. 


140 


THE CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR COMPOSING-STICK. 


3 


THE 

Christian Endeavor Composing-Stick. 

PUBLISHED WEEKLY. 

WE, US, AND CO., Editors and Proprietors. 

TERMS : 

One year $0.00 

Children, half price. 


Now that there are so many journals, 
and everybody is writing for the press, 
why not teach in every public school 
the art of getting up a manuscript ? 
There are few, indeed, that understand 
such matters as the proper indention of 
a paragraph, the proper way to write 
headlines, the place for the signature, 
and the need of great care in writing 
proper names. 


©uc Clubbing Xlst. 

THE LEADER. 

This is at present the only paper we 
are anxious to club. 


EDITORIAL BRIEFS. 

Do not forget that for advance pay- 
ment of subscriptions we make the 
liberal discount of twenty-five per cent. 

The sad part of type-setting is that 
all our work must so soon be taken to 
pieces again. It requires, indeed, the 
eye of faith to see clearly that it is the 
same labor that goes on, with the elec- 
trotype, into the press, while the type 
itself may, perchance, be pied. 

The constant industry of the coat- 
makers in the building over the way is 
an inspiration . How it contrasts with 
the loafing and the idle chatter of the 
clerks in the book auction room below, 
who choose to waste their time amid so 
rich chances of improving it ! 

It will help us if we can keep in 
mind, as we drudge over the type, the 
thousands of readers to whom we are 
carrying bright stories, beautiful poems, 
and wise essays. 

Scarcely is any manuscript so hard 
to read as that of a man who tries to 
write finely, with his flourishes that only 
confuse, his hairlines, and his needless 
shadings. Commend us to the penman 
who seeks simply to make his writing 
unmistakably plain. 

In what different ways different peo- 
ple eat lunch! Some degrade it, by 
their munching, to the hog-pen level. 
Others eat it as daintily as if it were a 
dinner of ten courses. 


WEATHER INDICATIONS. 

When Editor Barton, on entering his 
room in the morning, slams the door, 
look out for squalls. 

When the editor, on the contrary, is 

heard whistling his one tune, “ Suwanee 
River,” it will be a fair day. 

A galley tipped over indicates clouds 
and heavy showers. 

Poor copy should lead you to ex- 
pect muttering thunder, with uncertain 
weather. 

When Dick hears the noon bell, ex- 
pect a bright sunrise. 

When the author of this article sets a 
galleyful of type without an error, look 
out for the sky to fall. 

When the boy from the electrotyper’s 
comes in with his pipe in his mouth, and 
Foreman Edwards sees him, it is a sure 
precursor of lightning. l. b. 

VERTICAL WRITING. 

It is astonishing to see how few peo- 
ple write letters that can stand alone. 
To understand a word you must read it 
as a whole, like a Chinese character. 

And so, if there comes a time when the 
meaning of the word depends on a sin- 
gle letter, as “and, end,” “form, 
from,” “ far, for,” and especially 
proper names, the poor compositor is 
totally at a loss. 

How many penmen make n’s that, cut 
out from their words, could be distin- 
guished from their u’s, or their m’s, or 
their v’s, or their w’s ? In the same 
way t, i, r, and 1 are hopelessly confused, 
and c, a, u, o, e, as well as such letters 
as b, 1 , k, f, h. 

I saw the other day in a newspaper 
the statement that vertical writing is 
' coming into use more and more, and 


4 


THE CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR COMPOSING-STICK. 


that there is even a movement to intro- 
duce it into the public schools. All 
printers will rejoice. The few manu- 
scripts in vertical writing or back hand 
that I have seen were as plain, almost, 
as print. The letters can be distin- 
guished from each other in this mode of 
writing more clearly by far than in writ- 
ing of the ordinary slant. 

I think if I had anything to say about 
the control of the public schools — and 
some day I may have, though I am only 
a woman — I should at least insist that 
teachers get their scholars to writing 
plainly, even if they did not put in a 
single flourish, and even if they never 
knew how to decline a Latin noun. 

G. L. 


THE COMPOSING=STICK. 

BY O. N. WEST. 

Oh, a gallant weapon am I 
For a true Endeavorer’s hands ! 

The bullets of truth I supply 
Find lodgment in far-away lands. 

My types in their militant rows 
Are ready to charge and to fight 
The boldest and ugliest foes 
That assail the good and the right. 

Since pens are mightier than swords, 
My type has more power than guns ; 
It is lordlier far than the lords 
Of all earth’s imperial sons. 

To one mighty Monarch alone 
The hosts of the types yet shall bow ; 
Great Alpha-Omega in one, 

The Lord of all letters art thou 


BY THE CLOCK. 

There is one compositor in the office 
who sets more ems in a week than any 
one else on the force. I have watched 
to see how she does it. This is her 
secret : she sets herself stints. She 

watches the clock. She says, “ ISlow I 
am going to set up so many stickfuls 
this hour ” ; and she always does it. 

The rest of us, with no definite aim, 
work as fast as we may, — by spurts, — 
do not get as much done as she does. 


She has no patent on her method, and I 
know she will be glad to let others have 
her secret. 


QUADS. 

BY THE OFFICE DICK-TATER. 

Why is a bad compositor like the 
Lick telescope ? A nswer : Because he 
is always pi-ing things (“ always spy- 
ing)” you know ! Te, he!) 

When an urchin cries for candy of the 
old-fashioned variety, of what printer’s 
tool are you reminded by the candy that 
finally quiets him? Answer: Of the 
composing-stick . 

Pied type calls for piety. 

The Dick-tater would like to remind 
his readers that a slow compositor who 
makes no mistakes is worth more than 
the fastest compositor whose galley it 
takes an hour to correct. 


A dvertiseme?its. 


L ost. 

when 
tor the other 


My Temper . I saw it last 
-pushed me in the eleva- 
day. If some one will 


bring it back to me, I will try not to let 
it get away from me again. e. s 


POUIVD — in Jennie Rolland’s last 
galley-proof — a mistake. This 
rarety has been placed under a glass 
case, and is exhibited on request by 
L. B . 


W ANTED. A pair of specta- 
cles that will tell the difference 
between the e’s and a’s and o’s, the m’s 
and n’s and u’s, the t’s and l’s, the v’s 
and w’s, of some of our “ copy.” 
Address Perplexed Compositor, Office 
of The Composing-Stick. 


ANTED. Words to express 
my admiration for an article I 
had to set up last week. Ink was black. 
Penmanship was plain as type. Para- 
graphs were distinctly indicated. Lines 
were separated by wide spaces. Oh, it 
was glorious ! May the editor accept 
his MS. every week ! 


142 


A TERRIBLE DISCORD. 143 

“Why, who is the poet of the office?” was 
the cry when this third number of The Comfios- 
ing-Stick made its appearance. 

Everybody wore an innocent face, but in an 
instant Lucy clapped her hands. 

“ Oh, I know!” she cried. “Who lives in 
Weston?” and Jennie was overwhelmed with 
congratulations on these products of her muse. 

It was this paper that brought the society to 
the notice of Foreman Edwards. He went to a 
restaurant for his lunch, and therefore had 
never been present when one of the weekly 
Christian Endeavor meetings was in progress. 
Dick, however, had to ask his permission before 
he could run off the paper on the proof press, 
and his answers to Mr. Edwards’s inquiries 
aroused that young gentleman’s interest. He 
made up his mind to be present next Thursday 
noon and investigate. Going out to his lunch, 
therefore, earlier than usual, our foreman re- 
turned just as the Printers’ Christian Endeavor 
Society was beginning its session. Quietly 
Jack Edwards took his seat close by the little 
circle, while Sallie and her crowd in the center 


*44 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


of the room nudged each other in gleeful ex- 
pectation of a scene. Jack’s heresies were well 
known in the office. 

As he sat outside that circle of seven earnest 
young Christians, Jack was overcome by a 
feeling he never had known before. His head 
bowed instinctively as theirs bowed, and he 
trembled with suppressed emotion, as, one after 
another, the sweet girl voices and Dick’s frank 
utterance expressed their needs and aspirations, 
their confession and their praise, softly, as to 
one very dear ; confidentially and simply, as to 
one greatly trusted and felt to be very near. 

“ Dear Jesus, teach my hands to be patient 
for thee, and my brain to be quick. Enable me 
to do whatever I do as for thee.” 

“ Dear Jesus, forgive all my murmuring, and 
frets, and discontent. Help me to be happy all the 
day because thou art with me and blessing me.” 

“ Dear Saviour, I thank thee for the strength 
to do my work, and pray thee that it may 
become more and more thy work as well as 
mine.” 

Such were the brief prayers, the like of which 


A TERRIBLE DISCORD. 145 

Jack, unused to churches and prayer meetings, 
had never heard before. Their earnestness 
thrilled him, and their directness appealed to 
his straightforward manliness. Notwithstand- 
ing, he felt ill at ease. 

When heads were lifted and the seven began 
to speak in order, Jack grew more at home. 
This did not make him feel so uncomfortable as 
those prayers did. Yet this, too, was quite new 
to him, for these young Christians were in the 
habit of saving for that Thursday half-hour 
whatever of helpfulness they could find during 
the week, and the quick wits of these bright 
young folks found many helpful things. To 
this meeting Jennie brought Helen Hunt Jack- 
son’s beautiful poem, “Not as I Will.” Susan 
read for them a few noble sentences of Phillips 
Brooks, whom they all evidently loved. Grace 
repeated a fine illustration that had stuck in her 
memory from last Sunday’s sermon. Dick told 
of a noble act of heroism he had read about in 
the paper. Lucy repeated the Ninetieth Psalm, 
asking them all to bow their heads as she did so, 
that they might use it as a prayer. 


146 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


When all were done, Dick turned to Jack 
Edwards, and said, with his winsome smile : — 
“Every one takes part, Mr. Edwards, in 
Christian Endeavor meetings. Won’t you give 
us a word ? ” 

“ I had been intending,” answered Jack, “ to 
ask permission to bring my contribution to the 
meeting. I am well aware that you will not 
agree with what I shall read, and probably my 
contribution will be the strangest ever made to a 
Christian Endeavor meeting, but nevertheless, 
as I believe it, I will read it ” ; and he pulled 
from his pocket a copy of The Leader . 


CHAPTER XI. 


HER FATHER’S BUSINESS. 

OURELY the article that Jack Edwards then 
^ read was the strangest ever read at a 
Christian Endeavor meeting, as he himself said. 
I shall not stain my story with it. And yet it 
was no worse than many thousand other writ- 
ings sent forth every month by the infidel press 
of the world, — writings becoming each year, I 
am glad to believe, fewer themselves, and 
patronized by fewer readers. 

In the article it was coolly taken for granted 
that this ancient faith of ours, the inspiration of 
countless heroic lives, and the dearly loved sup- 
port of myriads of the world’s wisest and best, 
is based on foundations no more firm than 
uphold the myth of the apples of Hesperides. 
This conquering, regnant religion, this master 
of history, this Lord of kings, was treated as an 
old wife’s tale, honored only by women and 
children. Christ was patronized — fat7'onized! 


147 


148 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

The writer ranked him as somewhat below 
Herbert Spencer and somewhere above Tolstoi. 
Miracles were contemptuously cast aside as 
impossible; the Bible, as a fairy-book. Vol- 
taire was accepted as history, and Ingersoll as 
logic. 

“But,” said the writer, “there is something 
better than outworn superstitions. In the place 
of this absurd religion of a self-imagined god, 
let us practise the religion of a real humanity. 
Let us feed the hungry, clothe the naked, teach 
the ignorant, reform the vicious. Thus, in 
place of a fictitious heaven, we shall create a 
heavenly earth.” 

As Jack Edwards ceased, there was a pro- 
found silence throughout the room. Sallie’s 
group of jeerers had been listening, you may 
be sure. Now they watched eagerly to see 
what would be the result of Jack’s bold attack 
on the enemy. Jennie’s face was pale, and her 
eyes were full of tears. The others were more 
familiar with Leader copy ; even Lucy Banks, 
who, in her sore need of work, had not dared to 
take Jennie’s bold step and refuse to set the 


HER FATHER’S BUSINESS. I49 

hated matter. Grace, ever ready, was first to 
speak. 

“ Christians believe in doing good, Mr. 
Edwards,” she said, “ as much as the writer of 
that article, but we have found that we cannot 
do good without Christ’s help, and that with his 
help we can. I hope that some day you may 
come to know the Saviour we all love to honor.” 

“ I do honor him,” said Jack, and he said it 
earnestly. “ He was a great and good man. 
I do not confound him with the things that silly 
tradition has attributed to him.” 

With this, as it was one o’clock, he rose to go 
to his work, and his compositors followed him, 
— with what feelings you may easily imagine. 

This incident was the beginning of several 
things. One of them was this: Jennie Rolland 
made up her mind to do what she could to win 
for Christ this manly young fellow, whose 
merry laugh, pleasant ways, and abounding 
energy could do such good service in the Chris- 
tian cause. 

Having come to this decision, our young 
woman was not long in carrying out her inten- 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


150 

tion. She was a young woman of business, and 
was in the habit of counting work for her 
Master as more pressingly important than any 
other business whatever. After long thought 
and much earnest prayer, she found opportunity, 
one evening, for a few words with Jack, just as 
the other girls were bustling off toward the 
elevator. 

“Mr. Edwards,” she began abruptly, “do 
you know, though you pretend to be such a 
skeptic, I think you would like to believe the 
story of Christ, if you could? ” 

“Why, yes, indeed, Miss Rolland,” Jack 
answered frankly, evidently not at all dis- 
pleased at her introduction of the subject. 
“Who would not rather believe in the Bible 
account than disbelieve it? But I can’t, and 
that is all there is of it.” 

‘ ‘ Are you sure you can’t ? ” 

“ Quite sure. I have investigated the matter 
thoroughly ” ; and Jack looked very wise. 

“ Mr. Edwards,” urged Jennie seriously, “ I 
do not see how you dare disbelieve the Bible. 
If ever death comes as near you as it has come 


HER FATHER’S BUSINESS. 151 

to me” — and here Jennie’s voice faltered at the 
remembrance of her dead brother — “you will 
see how the Bible story furnishes the only com- 
fort in all the world.” 

“ But we ought not to believe things merely 
because they are comforting, Miss Rolland. 
Death is a dark mystery, but fables, however 
beautiful, do not clear it up.” 

“Yes, but if the story of the resurrection is 
true — ” 

“If!” and Jack’s monosyllable expressed 
equal superiority and amusement. Had he not 
delved deep into philosophy? Had he not 
read Herbert Spencer and all the other evolu- 
tionists? And here was a girl compositor who 
thought she knew more about the problem of 
life and death than he knew ! 

“ Mr. Edwards, why do you think the 
account of the resurrection untrue ? ” 

“ Miss Rolland, it is not my business to prove 
it true or untrue. It is the business of Chris- 
tians to prove their story true, and in this they 
ridiculously fail, when they do not piously evade 
the point altogether.” 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


“What kind of proof do you need?” asked 
our persistent advocate, who felt herself getting 
far beyond her depth. 

“ Well,” answered Jack, smiling condescend- 
ingly, “before I could believe that a man died 
and came to life again after three days in the 
grave, I should have to have the testimony of 
competent, disinterested witnesses, and the 
evidence of a sufficient number of them. Be- 
sides, I should want it proved that what was 
given me was their testimony, and not a fabrica- 
tion. None of this can be given for the Christ 
myth.” 

Jennie never felt her weakness as she did 
just then. Her faith, like the faith of the 
majority of Christians, was born of the heart, 
rather than of the mind. Faith, to amount 
to anything, must always spring from the heart, 
but it must be armed with logic and facts if 
it is to enter into a struggle with unfaith. 
What is perfectly satisfying to Christians, and 
rightly satisfying, seems, to one who has not 
passed through the Christian’s blessed experi- 
ence, to be nothing but emotion. Few Chris- 


Her father’s business. 153 

tians realize their duty to be able to give a 
reason for the faith that is in them. They are 
likely at any turn to stumble against Jack 
Edwardses. 

There was only one thing Jennie could say, 
and she said that. 

“ Mr. Edwards, I am ashamed to say that, 
though I believe in my heart that the Bible is 
true and genuine, and do not think a false book 
could possibly do what the Bible has done for 
me and the world, yet I have not studied the 
reasons why men know the Bible to be true, 
and Christ to be no impostor or myth. But 
my brother Henry once thought just about 
as you do, and one of his college professors 
gave him a book that helped him out of all his 
difficulties. If I bring it in to you, will you 
read it? ” 

“Why, really, Miss Rolland, I have read so 
many books on the subject that it would be 
carrying coals to Newcastle, if you will excuse 
me ; but, if you want me to, I will read the 
book, of course, and thank you for your kind- 


ness. 


154 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

Promptly the next day Jennie appeared with 
the volume. It was a small book, in pleasant, 
open type, with short chapters. It was written 
in a straightforward, manly style, and with a 
fine feeling of sympathy with honest doubt. 
The writer evidently did not aim at an elaborate 
theological treatise ; it was a plain talk in plain 
language. Nor did the author prove all his 
positions by quoting the Bible, forgetting first to 
prove the Bible. 

He put himself with wonderful insight and 
tact precisely in the place of the unwilling 
skeptic. He took nothing for granted except 
the reader’s honesty of purpose and willingness 
to yield to clear proofs. He admitted the 
mysteries that must attend the infinite God in 
his dealings with his finite creatures, and he 
showed how it would be unreasonable if these 
mysteries did not exist, and exist, too, in just 
the form in which the Bible presents them. 

And as for the side of Christianity that admits 
of human proof, his evidence was such as 
would be deemed conclusive in any court of law, 
and was presented with all a lawyer’s ardor and 


HER FATHER’S BUSINESS. 155 

skill. Jennie read the little book entirely 
through before she gave it to Jack Edwards. 
She sat up half the night, I am sorry to say, to 
do it. But she gave it to him with the confi- 
dence that, unless he was wilfully skeptical, that 
book would resolve his doubts. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THEY CAN STAND IT NO LONGER, 


ACK EDWARDS read with care the book 



^ that Jennie had given him. He read cer- 
tain portions of it many times. Saturated as he 
was with the infidel arguments of Strauss, 
Renan, Ingersoll, and men of their stamp, this 
was the very first time he had given Christianity 
a chance to speak for itself. He was aston- 
ished ; he was overwhelmed. 

It is a mistake to suppose that our modern 
young men are naturally inclined toward skepti- 
cism. When the argument for Christianity is 
presented to them with clearness and manliness, 
and without the use of cant terms, their minds 
are fair enough to acknowledge its truth, and 
their characters are brave enough to go on from 
inward admission to outward confession. So it 
was with Jack. 

Shutting the little book with emphasis the 
second evening- after Jennie had given it to him. 


THEY CAN STAND IT NO LONGER. 1 5 7 

Jack exclaimed, “ I must see what Will Stevens 
has to say to this. If this book can be an- 
swered, I want to know it.” 

Will Stevens was a young man, the son of 
the owner and editor of The Leader , and a 
great crony of Jack’s. From him Jack had 
received many of his doubts, and it was natural 
that upon him he should try his awakening 
faith. It chanced that Will’s house was close at 
hand, and to it our foreman at once betook him- 
self. 

Ushered into Will’s den, — a room dense with 
tobacco smoke, that half hid and wholly be- 
fouled its contents, — Jack was not long in intro- 
ducing the subject of his visit. “For you see, 
old fellow,” he explained, “this is an important 
matter, whether it is true or not, and I have 
made up my mind to sift it to the bottom.” 

“I thought you had sifted it to the bottom 
long ago,” sneered Will, “ and become con- 
vinced of the absurdity of this obsolete religion. 
I didn’t think you were one to be frightened 
from logic and reason as soon as the priests 
threaten you with an imaginary hell.” 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


158 

“ I thought I had investigated it,” answered 
Jack, not minding his companion’s ridicule ; 
“ but I find that I investigated only the argu- 
ments of the opponents of Christianity, and not 
those of Christians, which is hardly fair.” 

‘ ‘ Why not ? If the books you have been read- 
ing prove that the Christian story is impossible, 
what is the need of any more bother about it ? ” 

“ There would be no need. But, Will, my 
dear boy, from a little book I have been reading 
it seems to me that many of the arguments against 
Christianity are founded on misstatements. I 
believed the arguments because it never occurred 
to me to investigate their premises.” 

“ Why, we do not take anything for granted, 
— except common sense, — while the professors 
of Christianity take everything for granted. 
They swallow stories that any beginner in 
science knows to be utterly false.” 

“The miracles?” queried Jack. “But, do 
you know, I have been astonished lately to see 
how much proof there is of the miracles.” 

“ Pooh ! Every other religion has just such 
stories to tell.” 


THEY CAN STAND IT NO LONGER. 159 

“So the skeptic books always say, but the 
stories they quote are very different from the 
miracles of Christ, and besides, they are un- 
proved, while Christ’s are not senseless miracles, 
but miracles for a grand and adequate purpose, 
and they are miracles that seem to be well 
authenticated.” 

“ Authenticated ! by a lot of monkish legends 
written six centuries after the events they are 
supposed to commemorate ! ” 

“ And now, Will, that is another point. I 
find an overwhelming mass of evidence proving 
that the books of the New Testament were 
really written by the immediate followers of 
Christ. Men who lived during the lives of the 
apostles themselves confirm in their writings the 
genuineness of the Gospels. There are trans- 
lations of them into other tongues made at least 
within a century of when they were written. 
The very opponents of Christianity of those 
days prove the authenticity of the Gospels by 
their abuse of them. The Gospels are widely 
quoted, too, in the early Christian writings. 
They seem to correspond so minutely to the 


l6o FOREMAN JENNIE. 

customs and conditions of the times in which 
they are said to have been written that it now 
seems to me quite impossible that they could 
have been a later production.” 

“ Oh, those early Christians were all deceived. 
Fanatics will come to believe anything.” 

“ At any rate, they believed the story of Christ 
strongly enough to die for it, hundreds of thou- 
sands of them.” 

“ That is, you think they died as martyrs.” 

“No, not I, but the fact is proved — or so it 
seems to me — by the testimony of the heathen 
persecutors themselves.” 

“ Oh, well, they were credulous in those 
days. They would believe anything told them, 
and believe it strongly enough to die for it. 
What did they know then about our modern 
logic? What did they care about the rules of 
evidence?” 

“That argument also had much weight with 
me, Will, until I looked more carefully into the 
matter. But really, though I have but just 
begun to read the New Testament with this 
point in view, I am astonished already to see 


THEY CAN STAND IT NO LONGER. l6l 

what proof there is in it that the followers of 
the new religion accepted it only after long 
struggles and anxious inquiry. Why, Paul 
seems to me as careful about proofs as a modern 
lawyer ; and what wonder, when we think 
what the adoption of Christianity meant to those 
first Christians ! ” 

“Bah! What do we know of those days? 
Most people are Christians now because it 
means an easy life here and no hell hereafter, 
as they think.” 

“ I have read about the missionaries killed 
only a few years ago in China, and Africa, and 
the Pacific islands, and I do not know how 
many more places, and I have seen the workers 
in our city missions. I am sure they do not 
accept Christianity just because it is popular. 
You see, Will, I have been thinking a good 
deal lately on the other side of this question. I 
have read the first book of Christian evidences ” 
— here Will sneered derisively — “that I ever 
read, and I am beginning to read my New 
Testament in its light, and not just to pick it to 
pieces. I have come around to-night to go over 


162 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


that book with you, if you will be so kind, 
and see what you can say against its arguments, 
one by one ; it is so easy to talk in generalities 
and get nowhere. I know how well versed you 
are in all the arguments of the skeptics. Will 
you do me this favor?” 

We need not pursue the conversation farther. 
Point by point, and chapter by chapter, for two 
hours, Jack fought it out with his infidel friend. 
He found Will able in no particular to meet, 
with opposing facts, the many facts of the 
book. His “ poohs ” were many, his denials 
multitudinous ; finally he became angry, and 
Jack was shrewd enough to see that none of 
these things were arguments. With his eyes 
opened by Jennie’s book to the impudent as- 
sumptions and falsehood of the skeptics, he was 
able to see that further study on his part would 
probably refute even the few of Will’s objec- 
tions he was not already prepared to meet. 

Jack went from that interview a far wiser 
man. His brain was cleared from many a fog. 
He was ashamed of himself, seeing in Will 
what he himself had been. His heart had not 


THEY CAN STAND IT NO LONGER. 163 

yet been touched by the love of Christ ; he was 
not yet a Christian ; but his mind had been 
won to give assent to the truth of the Christian 
story, and he was no longer an infidel. So 
little, however, did he yet know of the Chris- 
tian experience that he would probably, if 
asked, have declared himself to be a Christian. 
***** 

I said that the Leader episode of the Chris- 
tian Endeavor prayer meeting was the beginning 
of several things. This was one. Another, 
though less important, was more dramatic. 

You may be certain that such Christian En- 
deavor meetings as I have described could not 
long go on in the office of The White Plume , 
and yet the consciences of the six Endeavorers 
who had not protested against Leader copy re- 
main at peace. 

They fell to talking about the matter one 
noon, and asked Jennie what they ought to 
do. 

“ Why, I am not your conscience,” answered 
Jennie. “ I have hard enough work to be con- 
science for myself.” 


164 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

“ You are a constant rebuke to us,” said Dick. 

“ I am sure, Dick, I don’t want to be.” 

“But you are,” declared Grace. “We are 
Christian Endeavorers as much as you are, and 
what business have we, I should like to know, 
setting up a paper which slanders Christ in 
every number? Is that one of the things He 
would like to have us do?” 

“ Only, Jennie,” put in Susan, “ we have done 
it so long that it is pretty hard to break away 
from it. You were a new girl, you know.” 

“ And if I should refuse to set up that Leader 
copy,” added Lucy, “ I am afraid they might 
dismiss me, and what would my poor mother 
do? It would surely be wrong for me to risk 
her comfort, don’t you think so? — more wrong 
than to set up that miserable stuff.” 

She asked the question of Jennie, who only 
answered, pressing her hand, “ God will not 
let any harm come to us, dear, or to our loved 
ones, from our doing right, I am sure.” 

“ That’s just it,” put in Mary ; “ but what is 
right? If we should stop setting that copy, it 
would all have to be set by the other girls, — all 


THEY CAN STAND IT NO LONGER. 165 

of it, — and it would hurt them much more than 
it hurts us, for they believe it, and we do not.” 

Mary, you see, was even improving on an 
argument that Jack Edwards himself had once 
used, in vain attempt to persuade Jennie into 
Leader work. It is so easy to come to the con- 
clusion that right-doing — when we are afraid 
of it for ourselves — is going to injure some one 
else ! 

“But yet,” said Dick emphatically, “here 
we are, seven Christian young people, at work 
in an office that is sending out the most danger- 
ous infidel paper published in the United States. 
And we not only do not protest, but we put the 
wretched stuff into type. I feel as if I never 
could wash the black from my fingers. I tell 
you, girls, I am not going to do it any longer. 
Do you know what I am going to do? I am 
going straight to the owner of The White 
Plume , — straight to Mr. Phillips. He can stop 
the whole thing if he will, and they tell me he 
is a church member.” 

“Good! good! Dick. I will go with you,” 
cried Jennie. 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


1 66 

“ And I ! ” said Grace. 

“ We will all go ! ” exclaimed the rest of the 
seven. 

“Well!” remarked Dick, rather uneasy at 
thought of the leadership he had taken upon 
himself in so important a matter, “ this will be 
quite a strike ! ” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


DO YOU KNOW CHRIST? 



ACK could not get away from Jennie’s book 


^ of Christian evidences. Its manly logic, 
abundant attestations, unanswerable facts, ap- 
pealed most strongly to a mind naturally truth- 
loving, though it had so long been steeped in 
crafty misrepresentation and falsehood. More- 
over, the book drove him at every turn to the 
New Testament, the fascination of whose 
marvelous pages seized upon him, so that for 
the first time he really read them. 

And the result speedily was that he became 
ill at ease. The talk with Will Stevens was 
renewed, time and again, that he might test to 
the utmost his old unfaith ; and more clearly 
each time he grew to see its fundamental un- 
soundness. But he grew also to see that in 
losing this he had gained nothing to take its 
place. 

What taught him his lack? The meetings 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


1 68 

of the Printers’ Christian Endeavor Society 
and the conduct of its members. He was 
present at no more of the meetings, but he saw 
the heads quietly bowed in the corner, he heard 
the reverent murmur of voices, he saw the 
blessedness in the faces. Here was something — 
he knew not how to define it — that he sorely 
lacked. 

One evening, as he was coming from the 
house of Will Stevens, whom he had failed to 
find at home, the thought occurred to his mind, 
placed there doubtless by some heavenly in- 
fluence, “ Now why do I still flutter around the 
candle where my wings have been burned? 
Why not seek out a man who can help me into 
peace ? ” 

Jack walked slowly on, his proud heart con- 
tending. Why should it be so hard to ask for 
help in getting to Christ? If Jack had had 
money to invest he would, without a particle of 
shame, have asked the richest and most suc- 
cessful man he knew, how to invest it. If he 
had been going to Europe, he would without 
hesitation have inquired freely about routes and 


DO YOU KNOW CHRIST? 1 69 

cost from any man who had been there. But 
he had set out on an eternal journey, and was 
blindly trying to find his way alone. 

And why is it, too, that so many professed 
Christians, if by any chance a man asks of 
them the way to Christ, feel themselves growing 
hot and cold with embarrassment, and stiffen at 
once out of their real, helpful, workaday selves 
into cold platitudes? Oh, that we could enter 
into this, “our Father’s business,” with the 
warmth, the zest, the reality we put into our 
miserable business of dollars and cents ! 

At last Jack’s sturdy common sense got up- 
permost, and he hesitated no longer. He knew 
just where to go, and speedily found himself in 
the cozy study of the Rev. Paul Strong. 

Paul Strong was a young minister whom 
Jack had heard a few times, and whom he 
had always admired for a certain straight- 
forwardness and living earnestness, — qualities 
that attract young men far more than all the 
political sermons, and bicycle sermons, and 
“life in a great city” sermons, and stereopticon 
views, and operatic choirs in the world. Paul 


170 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

Strong’s business was to win men to the eternal 
life, and he meant business ; and so his church 
was always full of young men, and so our 
young man came to him in his only half under- 
stood trouble. 

Jack stammered out a few commonplaces, 
and was wondering how he could ever introduce 
the subject, and whether he was not, after all, a 
great fool for coming, when Paul Strong, look- 
ing squarely at him with his bright and manly 
eyes, said, “Mr. Edwards, I believe and hope 
that you have come here to talk about Christ.” 

“Yes, I have,” said Jack, surprised and re- 
lieved. 

“Well, we could have nothing better worth 
talking about, and you could give me no greater 
pleasure than by talking with me about Him. 
Do you know, Mr. Edwards, every time I talk 
with any one about Christ, I get to know Him 
better myself, seeing a new side of Him through 
the other man’s experience.” 

“ But I guess you will not get this good from 
me, for I have been a great skeptic, an absolute 
infidel.” 


DO YOU KNOW CHRIST? 


171 

There was something Paul Strong did not 
like in the way Jack said this, and he asked, a 
little sharply, “You are not proud of it, are 
you?” 

That was an unexpected question, and Jack’s 
answer was confused. “N — n — o, though I 
don’t see anything to be ashamed of in it. I 
wouldn’t give a fig for a man who would believe 
a thing without looking on both sides of it.” 

“ Nor would I. There is nothing in honest 
doubt about which one should feel ashamed, 
but at the same time there is nothing in it of 
which to be proud. It is like a blind man’s 
being proud of his blindness.” 

“ Blindness? ” 

“ Certainly; you will not know what I mean 
till you see Christ. A man who has been blind 
from his birth can have no conception, poor 
fellow ! of the light, the sky, the reflections, and 
shadows, and colors. He needn’t feel ashamed 
of it, but at the same time he mustn’t be proud 
of it.” 

“ But I have come to see Christ. I am now 
convinced, thoroughly convinced, of the histori- 


172 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


cal truth of the New Testament, — at least, the 
major part of it.” Jack said this with the mag- 
nanimity of a discriminating judge, giving — 
with due qualifications — a favorable decision. 

“You have come to see Christ? Good. I re- 
joice with you. But, comrade, have you fozmd 
Him?” 

“‘Found Him?’ I have often heard that 
term” — Jack was going to say, “that cant 
term” — “but I do not know just what it 
means.” 

“And so you are not at peace, just as I was 
not at peace not many years ago, for I fancy 
that most young men pass through this same 
experience. Let me try to show you what I 
mean by ‘ finding Christ.’ First tell me, please, 
just what you have come to believe about Him.” 

“Well, Mr. Strong,” was Jack’s ready an- 
swer, “I have decided that He really lived; 
that the account given of Him in the New 
Testament is, in the main, authentic; that He 
spoke, on the whole, the words He is said to 
have spoken ; that He claimed to be a mani- 
festation of the deity ; that His miracles and His 


DO YOU KNOW CHRIST? 


173 


resurrection and ascension proved the claim.” 
Here Jack stopped, feeling that he had “wit- 
nessed a good confession,” and expecting the 
minister’s astonished congratulations. 

Instead came the question, “But why did 
God come to earth? ” 

“ Why, to tell us about Himself, to show us 
His character.” 

“What parts of His character? His power? 
The world knew that before. His wisdom? That 
is manifest in nature. His uprightness? The 
human conscience has always testified of that. 
No ; Christ came, as He Himself so often said, 
to show us God’s mercy, God’s love, — some- 
thing nature could not show us, something 
our hearts could only dimly hope before. But 
that is what Christ came to do on the Godward 
side. What did He come to do for man?” 

“ He came to set us an example, to show us 
how to live.” 

“Yes, that of course. But that is not the 
reason He gave for His coming. He said He 
came to save men from their sins. Do you 
need saving? ” 


i74 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


Again Jack hesitated. He was determined 
not to take upon his lips any pious cant. 

“Why, I am not good enough, of course; 
but I guess I’m as good as the average, and 
I’m trying to do better all the time.” 

“ But are you lost ? ” 

“ I do not feel so, certainly,” answered Jack. 
(“ He’s just like all the rest of ’em,” he said to 
himself.) 

“ Then if you do not feel that you need sav- 
ing, it is easy to see why you do not feel your 
need of a Saviour, and so have not found Him.” 

“Well, I am not to blame. How can I feel 
what I do not feel?” Jack felt that this argu- 
ment was adamantine. 

“My dear sir, do God’s will, and you will 
know the doctrine ; you will find out your sin, 
just as I did. Cease measuring yourself up 
against other men, deciding that you are as good 
as the average, and measure yourself up against 
the Christ life, and you will see how you need 
Him to lift you up into it. For instance, the 
Christian is not to let his heart be troubled. Do 
you indulge in worries?” 



JACK WAS STARTLED AND FOLLOWED THE OUTSTRETCHED HAND 





































' 




































































































































DO YOU KNOW CHRIST? 1 75 

“I should say so!” laughed Jack. “I get 
blue enough, sometimes,” and he wondered what 
that had to do with it. 

“Then you know how that sinful habit saps 
your strength, clouds your mind, sours your 
temper. Try to conquer it. Try even for a 
single day to be peaceful, trustful, sunny, and 
you will quickly see how incapable you are of 
maintaining yourself in happiness, and this dis- 
covery will lead you to Him who came that His 
joy might be in us, and that our joy might be 
full. And then, are you contented?” 

“No, indeed. I want many things, more 
money, and greater skill, and knowledge, and 
influence ; but this is only laudable ambition, 
Mr. Strong.” 

“As far as it is, it is all right, and will 
strengthen you. But I am greatly mistaken if 
this desire for what you have not does not often 
make you discontented and unhappy, envious of 
men and rebellious against God, and so inca- 
pable of doing your best work for God and men. 
Now, try to conquer this great weakness. Try 
to trust always in God, and to accept with abso- 


i7 6 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


lute joy and satisfaction the measure of success 
God grants to your earnest efforts ; try to keep 
this up even for a week, and you will find that 
you cannot do it without Christ.” 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Strong, but you have used 
a phrase that I often hear on the lips of minis- 
ters, and it always seemed to me a bit of mys- 
ticism.” 

(Jack was proud of that word, “mysticism.” 
It compressed into small space a world of sar- 
castic argument.) 

“Just what do you mean when you speak of 
doing things 6 with Christ ’ and ‘ without 
Christ’?” 

“Mr. Edwards, do you see Christ standing 
there?” 

The tone was so vivid, the gesture so earnest, 
the look so genuine and expectant, that Jack 
was startled, and followed the outstretched hand 
as if some vision were before him. 

Then Jack, ashamed of this bit of weakness, 
answered boldly, “ Mr. Strong, I am not a girl, 
to be scared, or a spiritualist, to be credulous.” 

“ Did He not promise when He rose to return 


DO YOU KNOW CHRIST? 


177 


and be with men forever? Do you not admit 
omnipresence to be a necessary attribute of 
deity?” 

Jack assented. 

“Ah, you believe with the head alone. If 
Christ is omnipresent, He is here. Right by 
your side. He will pass out of that door with 
you. He will stand by your bedside to-night. 
His will be your first greeting to-morrow morn- 
ing. He will go to your work with you after 
breakfast, and to the restaurant when you lunch. 
Too literal? Why, if omnipresence is not taken 
literally, how can it be taken? Now, you are 
living as if this Presence were not with you, and 
I am living ever conscious of Him, seeing Him as 
clearly as with physical vision, talking with Him, 
getting answers from Him every time I question 
Him, and helped by Him at every turn. Do you 
see the difference between doing things with 
Christ and without Him?” 

“ I see your meaning ; but, Mr. Strong, your 
words seem as unreal as dreams.” 

“Alas, comrade, I cannot make this blessed 
experience real to you. No one can but your- 


178 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


self. Arguing never led a man to Christ. You 
have many noble qualities. You are strong, and 
honest, and industrious, and intelligent. I know 
more of your life than you think. But I want 
you to stop thinking about what you have and 
begin to long for what you have not — this Pres- 
ence. It is as sad to miss heaven by not taking 
the step up as by taking the step down. Study 
the Life. Try to be like Christ. Lift Him up 
before you in your eager thoughts, and see if 
He does not fulfil His promise, and draw you to 
Himself.” 

Jack carried away from that frank talk just 
the feeling Paul Strong had hoped to inspire, — 
the beginning of a distrust in his own powers, 
his own ability to see truth, the beginning of a 
longing that truth, — He who is Truth, — might 
be shown to him. And this longing received 
its satisfaction in a fearful experience that I shall 
soon have to relate. 

* * * * * 

On the same evening with this interview 
another was taking place, which also was of 
much importance to the progress of our story. 


DO YOU KNOW CHRIST? 179 

Dick’s strike had not been suffered to lan- 
guish. The very next day after it had been 
determined on, the seven who made up the 
Printers’ Christian Endeavor Society went to 
the office prepared to call upon Mr. Phillips, the 
owner of The White Plume . 

They had brought with them their evening, as 
well as their noon, meal, and, to the amazement 
of the rest of the force, sat quietly down to eat it, 
instead of hurrying home after work was done. 
Not even Jack Edwards could learn their pur- 
pose. Dick imposed absolute silence as to that. 

The Printers’ Christian Endeavor Society set 
out with much trepidation. 

4 4 I feel,” said Mary, 44 exactly as if I were 
going to prison.” 

44 Instead of that,” declared Dick, 44 you are 
going to put a man on trial.” 

After a long ride in the street cars, they 
arrived at the finest residential portion of the 
city, and alighted in front of one of the grandest 
houses. The wide street, the handsome, smooth 
paving, the rich lawns, and the magnificent 
house, with its great windows and massive door, 


l8o FOREMAN JENNIE. 

caused our little party of reformers to tremble 
somewhat, yet they stoutly pressed on. 

A lackey in uniform answered their ring, and 
gave them an impudent stare as they asked for 
Mr. Phillips. He admitted them into the wide 
reception hall, from which stretched vistas of 
elegant parlors. Looking at them suspiciously, 
as if uncertain whether to leave them without a 
guard, he went to summon his master. 

After what seemed a long time to the little 
company awkwardly standing in the hall and 
talking constrainedly in low tones, the lackey 
reappeared. 

“ Mr. Phillips is busy. Tell me your errand, 
and I will tell him,” said the flunkey, snapping 
out the words as if he were throwing bits of meat 
to dogs. 

“ Please tell Mr. Phillips,” said Dick, speak- 
ing up sharply, “ that we wish to see him on 
business that we think very important. If he 
cannot see us now, we will come another time.” 

This message brought the lord of the mansion, 
a short, fat man, with a burly neck and red face 
and an arbitrary manner. 


DO YOU KNOW CHRIST? l8l 

“Hum!” grunted he, acknowledging his 
visitors with a cold nod, “ you will excuse me, but 
my time is precious. What can I do for you? ” 
“ Mr. Phillips,” answered Dick, his voice 
trembling a little at first, but growing stronger 
as he proceeded, “ we are compositors from the 
office of The White Plume . We like the work 
on that paper, and are trying to do it faithfully. 
You may ask the foreman about it. But we are 
Christians as well as compositors, and we have 
to set up in that office a paper that we don’t dare 
to work on any longer, — The Leader. I pre- 
sume,” said Dick diplomatically, “ that you 
don’t know the character of this paper, or you 
would not have it printed in your establishment. 
I have brought you a copy. You will find it full of 
slanders against Christianity, and we are follow- 
ers of Christ. We are Christian Endeavorers.” 

“Christian what?” sneered Mr. Phillips. 
“ Christian meddlers? Well, I believe you ! ” 

“ Knowing that you are a church-member,” 
continued Dick boldly, “ I thought you might 
be glad to know the condition of affairs.” 

“ Don’t you suppose I know my business, you 


182 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


impudent little wretch? ” broke out Mr. Phillips, 
no longer restraining the passion he had felt for 
some minutes. “ Do you come here to dictate to 
me what I shall print and what not? A pretty 
pass the labor element in this country is coming 
to ! What concern is it of yours, I should like 
to know, whether I print tweedle-dum or 
tweedle-dee ? ” 

“ Why, you see, sir,” began Dick, “ we have 
to set the type, and we are Christians — ” 

“Well, you don’t write the articles, do you? 
And you don’t own the paper, do you? Though, 
I declare, you seem to think you own it.” 

“ No, sir, we don’t make it our business what 
you print, but it is our business what we set up 
in type, and we will not — we have decided it 
among ourselves, sir — we will not any longer 
help in sending out those slanders on the religion 
we love.” 

“You won’t, eh? ” shouted Mr. Phillips in a 
towering passion. “Well, who do you suppose 
cares? Leave the house this instant, you cant- 
ing Pharisee, with your silly girls. I will have 
the whole pack of you dismissed to-morrow.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


STOP THOSE PRESSES ! 

O UR Printers’ Society of Christian Endeavor 
walked away from their interview with 
Mr. Phillips in a state of fiery indignation. As 
they had to take different lines of cars to go to 
their homes, they walked a little way together, 
in order to talk matters over. 

“Well,” quivered Lucy, “I wonder if Mr. 
Edwards will let him turn us off for such a 
reason as that.” 

“If he does, you will get a new place, dear,” 
said Jennie reassuringly, with her arm around 
her friend. “ We are doing it for Christ’s sake, 
and He will not forget us. Don’t worry.” 

“ And very likely Mr. Phillips will forget all 
about it, or change his mind when he cools 
down,” said Dick. “ But the question is 
whether we shall stay, anyway, turned off or 
not, and go on setting up type for The Leader , 
as it seems we must.” 


184 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


“ If we leave,” put in Susan, “ he would only 
get another set of compositors to do the work. 
We should just be rolling sin over on to their 
shoulders.” 

“ They can do just as we are doing,” answered 
Jennie. “Your argument is the one liquor 
dealers use when they try to defend their busi- 
ness.” 

“Well,” said Dick, “I, for one, don’t intend 
to set another line of Leader copy, come what 
may.” 

“ Nor I,” said Grace firmly. 

“ Nor I,” “Nor I,” came from all the rest, 
though Lucy’s agreement was a trembling one. 

With this the seven parted, going their several 
ways, and most of them spent a troubled night, 
living over again the scene with Mr. Phillips, 
that meant so little to him and so much to them. 
Many were their gloomy doubts and misgivings. 
It means much to give up a good position. Not- 
withstanding all, however, a very determined 
band of Christian Endeavors met in the White 
Plume office the next morning, and greeted each 
other with reassuring smiles. 


STOP THOSE PRESSES ! 185 

Before she went to work on that eventful 
morning Jennie noticed the crack in the wall 
near her case, that I have already spoken of. 
The two quads she had inserted in the crack 
had fallen out. Picking them up, Jennie now 
found the crack large enough to hold three 
quads side by side. She was about to speak to 
Grace regarding the phenomenon when Mr. 
Edwards came around with the copy. It was 
Leader day, as they all knew. 

Jack Edwards soon found that he had an 
insurrection on his hands. One after another, 
all of the Printers’ Christian Endeavor Society 
refused to accept the Leader manuscript. 

Jack was puzzled. He was not angry, as he 
would have been a week before, but that number 
of The Leader was to be got out, and how 
could he do it with only half his force at work 
on it? In his distress, he went to Editor Barton. 

That gentleman laughed. 

“You have a puritanical set of compositors, 
Edwards,” he remarked. “ Of course I don’t 
approve of The Leader any more than they do. 
I would not edit it for anything. But I don’t 


i8 6 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


propose to throw up my position as editor of 
The White Plume because my employer chooses 
also to publish an infidel paper. What is that 
to me? or, for that matter, to your fussy com- 
positors? But of course we don’t want a row 
in the office. Send them all in here, and I think 
I can put the matter before them in a way that 
will show them their foolishness.” 

And so it was that the seven found themselves, 
ranged under Jack’s marshalling, in the editor’s 
sanctum. Mr. Barton sat at his desk with his 
back to them until they had all entered. Then 
he wheeled sharply around. He wore a long 
beard, and had keen gray eyes under bushy 
eyebrows. 

“So! we have seven censors in this office, 
have we? My young friends, I think you are 
carrying your religious scruples a little too far. 
When you take the car to go home, will you 
stop to inquire whether the conductor of the 
train is orthodox before you will patronize the 
railroad? When you go into a restaurant, do 
you make the waiters pass a theological exam- 
ination before you will give your orders? Don’t 


STOP THOSE PRESSES ! 


187 


you see that the world would come to a stand- 
still if no one would have anything to do with 
any one else until the two got to thinking alike? 
You are engaged in a boycott, — in that unchris- 
tian thing, a boycott. I don’t hold the editor of 
The Leader responsible for my opinion, nor will 
any one hold me responsible for his. Neither 
will any one hold you responsible. Go back to 
your work and do it well, and let other folks 
attend to their work. That is their business, 
and not yours. The Leader is not considered 
to be the production of the printers, but of the 
writers, my dear young friends,” and Mr. Bar- 
ton’s eyes snapped as he got off this bit of 
sarcasm. 

Jennie could not stand this. Dick, who had 
been the spokesman of the evening before, 
hesitated, but she made answer to the logical 
editor : — 

“ Mr. Barton, I am sorry you think we are so 
conceited as to set ourselves up as judges over 
any one. We are just doing what our con- 
sciences tell us to do. We would not ask our 
train conductor if he was orthodox before we 


1 88 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


would travel with him, but if he wanted to run 
the train over an unsafe bridge, and I were one 
of the brakemen, I should not help him do it. 
It seems to us that if we were to set up type for 
an infidel paper, we should be accomplices of 
the men who write the paper, and we have de- 
cided not to help in any such bad business.” 

“ A-h ! ” and Mr. Barton scowled. “You are 
the girl who began this whole foolishness. You 
are the girl that made away with that chapter of 
the serial, because you objected to something in 
it, eh?” 

“ Mr. Barton ! ” cried Jack Edwards sharply, 
before Jennie could answer, were she able to do 
so in her agitation, “ I told you once before, sir, 
that this young woman is incapable of any such 
deed. You must not say another word of the 
kind in my presence. And I must say, sir, 
though I suppose in my position I ought not to 
say it, that I think these compositors have the 
best of the argument. We are all, — all of us 
in the composing-room, — accomplices in that 
business of publishing The Leader . I used to 
think little of it, because I believed with the 


STOP THOSE PRESSES ! 


189 

editor, and did not believe in Christianity ; but 
during the last few days ” — looking toward 
Jennie — “ I have come to see that Christianity 
is probably true and The Leader false. I do 
not myself see any need of making such a fuss 
about the matter, for I don’t suppose The Leader 
does much harm, anyway. You see” — again 
turning to Jennie — “ it has not hurt me much ; 
and I don’t think it will do any mischief if we go 
on printing it, as I suppose we must. But, just 
the same, Mr. Barton, I cannot help thinking 
that Miss Rolland is right in holding the printers 
partly responsible for getting out the paper, just 
as those who work in a distillery are partly re- 
sponsible for the work of saloons — not, of 
course, that this is as bad,” he hastily added, 
bringing his long and confused speech to an 
abrupt close. 

Jennie did not know whether to be proud of 
her champion or not. She thought that the 
matter was anything but such a slight affair as 
Jack had pictured it. But just here Dick, hav- 
ing mustered his courage, stepped forth and took 
his rightful place as the leader of the strike. 


I9O FOREMAN JENNIE. 

“You see, Mr. Barton,” said he, looking that 
gentleman straight in his keen eyes, “ it is just 
this way. We have a society of Christian En- 
deavor, we seven. We think it is the first 
printers’ society of Christian Endeavor in this 
country. We meet once a week, at noon. We 
have all taken the pledge, in which we promise 
to try to do whatever Christ would like to have 
us do.” 

“A large contract,” observed Editor Barton, 
cynically. 

4 ‘ Only to /ry,” repeated Dick; “we can at 
least try. And we have to go from our little 
meetings, where we pray to him and talk and 
read about him, and right away we have to put 
into type articles that say that he never lived, or, 
if he did live, he was an impostor, and that 
everybody is a fool who believes in him nowa- 
days, and that the Bible is only a tissue of lies, 
and that there is no hereafter, or God, or any- 
thing.” Dick ended rather lamely, but he had 
said his say, and he felt relieved. 

Mr. Barton did not attempt to argue the 
question further. Turning to Jack, he said, 


STOP THOSE PRESSES ! 


I 9 I 

with a wave of the hand as if to dismiss the 
party : — 

“ It is plain, Mr. Edwards, that you have an 
obstinate set on your hands. I advise you to 
advertise for fresh compositors who do not want 
to run the office. ” 

The eight withdrew, our seven strikers look- 
ing anxiously at their foreman to see what would 
be the result of it all. 

Jack was in a quandary. He knew well the 
value of his trained compositors. He had given 
them much attention. Himself a skilled worker 
and a young man of much intelligence, he had 
gathered around him a group of workers of 
whom he was proud. Their equal, he often 
said, could not be found in any office of its size 
in the land. He could not bear to think of part- 
ing with them. And for such a paltry cause, 
too ! Yet what could he do? The Leader must 
be put into type, and that in a hurry. 

Jack was never required to solve that prob- 
lem. 

As Jennie went back to her stool — there was 
no work there, but she went there for want of 


192 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


any other place to go — she noticed something 
that at once thrilled her with terror. The crack 
in the wall was greatly widened. She would 
have no difficulty now in putting in her whole 
hand. 

As she watched it, her eyes riveted on it, 
fascinated, she thought she could actually see it 
widen. A bit of the plaster fell to the floor as 
she looked. She leaped from her stool with a 
loud cry. 

“ Mr. Edwards ! come here ! quickly ! What 
does this mean? Oh, hurry ! ” 

In rapid words she told the foreman how 
she had watched that crack slowly widen. Our 
alert young man lost no time. On the floor 
above and on two floors below, as well as on 
his own floor, great presses were thundering, 
while the rickety old building quivered. Jack 
turned pale with excitement. 

“Dick! run upstairs while I run down. 
Tell them to stop their presses as they value 
their lives. Hey, Joe, Joe, stop those presses ! 
The building is falling ! ” 


CHAPTER XV. 


ON DANGEROUS GROUND. 

A S, one after another, the great presses 
stopped, the quivering building returned to 
comparative quiet. The panic-stricken composi- 
tors, however, thought they still felt a trembling, 
and they were right. 

As soon as he had thought twice, Jack had 
given orders to prevent a rush out of the build- 
ing. His workers were bidden to remain where 
they were and not to spread the alarm, while he 
got together and consulted the heads of the 
other establishments in the building. 

A hasty examination of the walls led these 
men to telephone in hot haste for the city in- 
spector of buildings. Cracks were opening 
everywhere before their eyes. Sharp little 
noises were to be heard here and there, and 
these were becoming louder. Bits of dust and 
of plaster were observed dropping from the 
ceilings. 


193 


194 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

It took the inspector of buildings only a few 
minutes to answer the imperative summons. 
He knew the establishment of old, and, as has 
been said, had condemned it partially once 
before, ordering the presses to adopt a slower 
rate of speed, a command which the owners 
had obeyed only for a time. Now, however, 
the judgment of this officer was prompt and 
almost passionate. He spoke with decision. 

“ This building is falling. Every soul in it is 
in great danger. We must get them out as 
quietly as possible, with no running and jar.” 

The inspector immediately stopped the 
running of the elevator. Everybody must go 
down by the stairs, which would be speedier, 
anyway, on the whole, and safer. The top 
floor was to be emptied first, and those below in 
order. All possible haste was urged, and ex- 
treme care that the workmen on each floor 
should be handled with promptness and quiet- 
ness, and yet without exciting alarm among 
those of the other floors. The inspector him- 
self saw to the accomplishment of his orders. 

Mr. Phillips had been telephoned for at the 


ON DANGEROUS GROUND. I95 

beginning of the trouble. He came puffing up 
from his down-town office. 

“Pooh! Pooh! What is all this? Got 
scared again? This building is safe enough! 
You can’t expect to run presses without some 
vibration, can you? Why, of course cracks 
will start in an old building. That means 
nothing. We shall put in some ties some day. 
What is the use of stopping work and letting 
all these compositors lie idle? Inspector 
ordered the building cleared? Just like his 
impudence ! What right has he to interfere 
with my business, I should like to know? 
Where is he?” And Mr. Phillips bustled off 
after the inspector. 

That gentleman, while he was deferential to 
Mr. Phillips as a man of wealth who had 
political influence, yet did not pause an instant 
in his work. 

“ I am sure,” he said firmly, “that this build- 
ing is unsafe, and every soul in it is running a 
terrible risk.” 

So Mr. Phillips had to console himself with 
seeing that as much as possible was saved 


I96 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

from his establishment, now being rapidly de- 
serted. 

“ Don’t let any one go out empty-handed ! ” 
he shouted. “ Take your arms full, heaping 
up, and put everything in White and Wait’s 
storeroom opposite. Then come back for 
more.” 

“Don’t come back for more!” shouted the 
inspector, who was quite angry. “Don’t put 
your foot inside this building again ; and get 
out of here as quickly as you can, no matter 
whether you carry anything or not. When so 
many lives are at stake,” he added, turning to 
Mr. Phillips, “it is no time to think of saving 
property. That can come afterwards.” 

“Take all you can carry,” defiantly shouted 
Mr. Phillips, “ and then come back for more ! 
Let the heads of all departments see to this. I 
will hold you each responsible for the property 
in your charge.” 

“ And God will hold you responsible, Mr. 
Phillips, for the lives that may be lost,” sternly 
said the inspector. 

Nevertheless, every one that went from the 


ON DANGEROUS GROUND. 197 

fourth floor went with his arms filled. The great 
account-books were taken from the safe ; the 
order-books, and important papers and corres- 
pondence. The compositors were loaded with 
cases of type, the most expensive being chosen 
by Jack’s experienced direction. Composing- 
sticks, galleys, boxes piled high with costly wood- 
cuts — the distracted employees staggered out 
under a double load of lead and apprehension. 

“ It is like a fire,” said Dick, “ only nothing is 
burning.” 

‘ 4 It is awful ! ” exclaimed Lucy. 4 4 I knew 
no building could stand such a fearful shaking. 
Oh ! ” And she screamed loudly as a bit of 
plaster fell sharply down on the case she was 
taking up to carry. 

They tiptoed downstairs as well as they 
could under their heavy burdens. The long, 
black stairways seemed endless. In the dusky 
light they could see everywhere yawning rents 
in the walls. Fear lent wings, and they soon 
breathed more freely in the street below, even 
though it was already filled with a curious crowd 
held back by a line of policemen. 


1 98 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


Under this escort our compositors filed across 
the street, arid gladly laid down their heavy 
loads in the storeroom opposite. 

Mr. Phillips was with them, bustling about, 
and superintending everything in a loud voice. 

“ Now,” he cried, “ go back for another load, 
every one of you, as you value your positions. 
Hurry up ! ” 

Jack ventured to expostulate. 

“ Why, Mr. Phillips, the inspector said it 
was not safe, and told us not to go back.” 

“ Mind your own business, young man, who- 
ever you are,” was the sharp reply. “Come, 
girls ! Come, men ! Back with you — all of 
you — and hurry up ! ” So he led his company 
of employees across the street, not one disobey- 
ing. 

“ I don’t like the looks of this,” muttered 
Dick. 

“ But they won’t let us go in,” said Jennie 
reassuringly, “if it is not safe.” 

And so indeed it proved. The policemen at 
the door were obstinate. In vain did Mr. 
Phillips tell them who he was. 


ON DANGEROUS GROUND. I99 

“ Yer ca-a-n’t get in here, don’t care who you 
are,” said the guardians of the peace; “that’s 
the orders.” So Mr. Phillips, threatening and 
raging, and vowing he would have those men 
discharged, had to retreat, with his little com- 
pany, back through the lane in the crowd to the 
store opposite. 

Here he was met by Editor Barton, who wore 
a troubled countenance. 

“ Mr. Phillips, the most important of The 
White Plume manuscripts are still in that build- 
ing, in the manuscript safe.” 

“ Why under the canopy didn’t you bring them 
out with you ? ” fiercely inquired his master. 

“I gathered up my papers in my desk — 
they were more than I could well carry — and I 
forgot all about the manuscript safe. But the 
manuscripts there are worth thousands of dollars, 
and they ought to be in a safe place.” 

Mr. Phillips bustled across the street again, 
and accosted the two policemen on guard at the 
door. 

“ There is some especially valuable property 
in that building, which I want to put in a safe 


200 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


place. I know you will let my foreman enter, 
with a few others, and bring it out. They will 
be out before the lower floors are all cleared,” 
and Mr. Phillips slipped a ten-dollar bill into 
each man’s hand. 

“Well,” they cried, “go ahead; only be 
quick about it, and say nothing to any one.” 

“Now, Barton,” said Mr. Phillips, hurrying 
back, “you take some of the force and get out 
those manuscripts. The policemen will let you 
through. It is safe enough,” he added, as Mr. 
Barton appeared to hesitate. 

“ Well, who will go?” asked Editor Barton, 
turning to Jack and his compositors. 

“I, of course,” said Jack. 

“ I will go before any of the girls,” said 
Dick, promptly, “if it must be done.” 

“There is no danger,” sharply said Mr. 
Phillips, “ or they would not let you go in. It 
is all a mere scare.” 

“ And who else? ” asked Mr. Barton, looking 
at the group of frightened girls. 

A sudden impulse seized Jennie. 

“ I want to help save your manuscripts, Mr. 


ON DANGEROUS GROUND. 


201 


Barton,” said she, remembering the ugly charge 
made when she first came. At the same instant 
Sallie spoke up. 

“ I am not afraid. It is just a silly scare. I 
will go, too.” 

“Come on, then,” and Mr. Barton led the 
way past the scowling policemen into the doomed 
building. 

Whether it was fancy or not, Jennie thought 
the gaping cracks perceptibly wider than they 
were when she had come down. Through the 
silent floors and along the dark stairways 
sounded ugly snappings, and sometimes louder 
reports. It was nervous business, but they tip- 
toed safely up to the fourth floor. 

Fumbling awkwardly at the lock of the manu- 
script safe, Mr. Barton had it open, after a 
minute which seemed an age to the four who 
were waiting. He took out box after box of 
costly documents, for The White Plume paid 
its contributors well, and always kept a large 
stock of manuscript on hand. Each was well 
loaded when they once more took up their march 
downward. 


202 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


Before they reached the floor below a brick 
fell out of the wall. 

“Run!” shouted Jack. “Run! Run!” and 
he seized Jennie’s arm to help her on through 
the gloomy passageway. 

The noises grew more and more startling. 
Each felt that it was a race for life. Editor 
Barton dropped a box, but did not stop to pick 
it up. Calls rang up from the hall below, loud 
and imperative. 

Down they sped, Mr. Barton well in the lead. 
He reached the first floor and the street. He 
found the crowd pressed back by the police to 
the opposite side. They shouted to him to 
hurry, and he ran as fast as he could. 

Suddenly came a fearful sound, an angry 
roar, and an indescribable sweep of rushing air, 
followed swiftly by a terrible rain of brick and 
stone and great iron girders. The entire front 
of the building had collapsed. It lay under a 
stifling cloud of dust. And somewhere in the 
horrible ruin were our four printers. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


SO AS BY FIRE 


TUNNED by the fearful crash and choked 



^ by the dust, Jennie was some time in re- 
gaining her senses. She found herself in dark- 
ness, save that a mere glimmer of light came in 
some way from above. Sallie was sobbing be- 
side her, and convulsively seized her hands. 

“ Oh, we are buried alive ! Oh, what will be- 
come of us? Jennie, Jennie ! Are you alive? ” 

“ Sallie, dear, I am not hurt a bit. God has 
saved us wonderfully.” 

“Saved us? We are buried alive !” sobbed 
Sallie. 

“Mr. Edwards! where are you?” screamed 
Jennie, as a sudden terror assailed her. 

“ Here I am,” cried a voice, faint but brave, 
out of the darkness. “ Something very heavy 
has fallen across my leg. It is broken, I think, 
but that is a small matter. Thank God, you are 
alive. Where is Dick?” 


203 


204 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


“ I don’t know. He was ahead, and Mr. 
Barton ahead of him. Oh, I do hope they got 
out safely ! ” 

Jennie and Sallie soon found, by groping 
around, what sort of predicament they were 
in. Fortunately for them, only the front half of 
the building had fallen. The great heap of 
rubbish lay in front of them, and blocked up the 
way behind them. Above them, however, the 
glimmer of light gave them some hope. They 
could not be buried very deeply. 

There came in to them a deadened tumult of 
noises from the street. There was a confused 
roar of voices, and quickly began to ring out the 
sharp blows of axes. 

In spite of himself, Jack groaned in his black 
imprisonment. At once Jennie was by his side. 

“ Are you in pain?” she asked. 

“ Yes,” Jack answered, “ but I can bear it all 
right. I am ashamed at groaning.” 

“ Here is something loose to pry with,” cried 
Jennie, feeling around in the dark. “ Come, 
Sallie, and help.” And the two girls together 
exerted all their strength to push away the cruel 


SO AS BY FIRE. 205 

beam that was pinning Jack down. But it was 
all in vain. 

“Never mind,” urged Jack. “Thank you, 
thank you, but do not tire yourselves. You may 
need all your strength before you get out of this 
dreadful place.” 

The three prisoners waited in their black dun- 
geon, their ears straining anxiously for every 
sound. It was impossible to tell what was hap- 
pening outside, whether their plight had been 
guessed, whether any rescue was being at- 
tempted. It was terrible to wait thus. 

Sallie’s sobs again broke forth, and Jennie’s 
arms were instantly around her. 

“ Don’t cry, my dear. The Father will care 
for us. He can see us here just as well as if we 
were in the daylight out there.” 

“ He may take care of you, but he won’t take 
care of me. O Jennie, I am so wicked. I feel 
that this is a punishment. Oh, I wish I had 
been a better girl ! ” 

“Pray to Jesus, dear, and he will make it 
all right again,” said Jennie, kissing Sallie in 
the dark. 


20 6 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


“ No, no, he won’t, he can’t. You don’t 
know what mean things I have done. Why, 
Jennie — ” and then came a pause, Jennie hold- 
ing still tighter the sobbing girl. 

“ I will tell it — I must. Jennie, I stole that 
chapter of the serial they blamed you for losing. 
I hid it in my waist. I wanted them to blame 
you, because I was jealous of you. I hated you 
because I saw you were good, and people would 
like you. I meant to put the story back, but I 
had no chance, and I was afraid of being caught 
with it, when I thought how valuable it was. I 
took it home and burned it. And I have been 
so ugly to you, Jennie. Can you ever forgive 
me?*’ 

“Why, of course, Sallie, dear, and so will 
God, if you are truly sorry and ask him to.” 

Jennie was going on, but at this moment a 
fresh fear seized her. 

“ Mr. Edwards,” she asked, “ don’t you smell 
smoke in this dust?” 

“Smoke? Fire? ” said Jack, startled. “God 
help us all if a fire has started.” 

In an instant there was no longer any doubt 


SO AS BY FIRE. 


207 


about it. A choking mass of smoke filled the 
hollow in the ruin where they were. It made 
the darkness still more black. It stifled them. 
Happily, it passed away after a moment, but it 
told them what was going on outside. 

“ Oh, pray for us, Jennie, ” cried Jack 
Edwards, quite forgetting his “ Miss Rolland” ; 
“ pray for us, for we need your prayers.” 

“Pray yourself, too,” urged Jennie. “Let 
us all pray with all our might.” 

“ No, I can’t pray,” groaned Jack. “ I have 
tried to, but God seems so unreal, so far away, 
and I keep thinking of this terrible mass that is 
pressing down on me, and of that fire that is 
eating its way toward us.” 

“ But think of Christ,” insisted Jennie. 
“ Christ is here, just as he was once on earth 
before men’s eyes. Oh, don’t you believe in 
Christ yet, Mr. Edwards?” 

“My head believes in him, Jennie, but that 
is nothing now. All those proofs in that book 
you lent me — I saw they were true, I saw the 
folly of my skepticism, I made up my mind to 
stop fighting against Christ. But, oh, that did 


208 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


not bring me nearer to him ! I do not know 
him. I am not sure of anything. I am afraid 
to die. O Jennie, pray for me, and pray for 
us all. He will hear you, if he can hear any- 
body.” 

“I shall pray,” answered Jennie, “but I 
want you to pray, too. You must pray, Jack. 
Just say, ‘ Dear Jesus, show thyself to me.’ 
Say it over and over. Won’t you, Jack? ” 

“Yes, I will, Jennie.” 

And Jack did. 

While Jennie’s trembling lips were whispering 
her faith-filled petitions — prayers for forgive- 
ness for all her sins, prayers for her dear mother, 
that this great sorrow should not be added to 
what she had so lately borne, prayers for the 
strong young man suffering near her, imprisoned 
in a twofold darkness — while Jennie was pray- 
ing thus,. Jack also was praying for himself, 
and really praying for the first time in his life. 

“ O Jesus, show me thyself. Dear Jesus, 
show me thyself. Show me thyself.” 

Outside, meanwhile, a stirring scene was 
enacting. The lower floors of the building had 


SO AS BY FIRE. 


2O9 


been cleared just in time to save enormous loss 
of life. Just in time, also, the police had pushed 
back the foolishly curious crowd. Some were 
injured by the flying bricks, but no one was 
seriously hurt. 

After the paralyzing crash, the throng seemed 
for a moment unable to move. Then rose Mr. 
Barton’s horror-stricken cry. 

“ There are four people in the ruins ! ” 

“ O Jennie, Jennie,” cried Grace, wringing 
her hands ; “Jennie and Dick are in there.” 

Fiercely then she turned to Mr. Phillips, who 
stood there, his fat face, usually so red, now 
white with the shock. 

“ If they are killed, you killed them ! You ! 
You are their murderer ! ” 

Mr. Phillips felt his heart sink within him. 
He was not a bad man, — he had a heart within 
him, only it was dungeoned in with his gold. 
He would gladly have given all he had in the 
world at that minute to see those four young 
people safe before his eyes. 

Loud rose the orders of the sergeant of police, 
bidding the crowd stand back; for even then, 


210 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


though there was imminent peril from the totter- 
ing remnant of the building, the silly spectators 
were rushing from behind to see, pushing 
toward the ruin those in the outer rows. Under 
his orders men were speedily detailed, and axes 
obtained for them. Spurred on by the wails of 
the girls, and the encouraging shouts of the 
crowd, and the liberal rewards offered by Mr. 
Phillips, these rescuers worked with a will. 

In front of them rose, however, a hopeless 
pile of brick, entangled with beams and sticks 
and splinters of wood and huge twisted bars of 
iron, sharp with fragments of glass, confused 
with the wreckage of furniture, presses, 
machinery, a mass most difficult to penetrate, 
even after the prize of four human lives. 

Guided by Mr. Barton, whose tall form was 
seen everywhere among the workmen while he 
directed them with feverish impatience, they 
made an excavation where the doorway and 
lower hall had been. 

Dick, who had been in advance, was first 
discovered. He had been struck on the head, 
and stunned. Luckily the weight of the ruin 


SO AS BY FIRE. 


2 1 1 


had been held from him by the great lintel of 
the doorway under which he was caught. 
When light was let in upon him he was seen to 
be alive, and was tenderly lifted out and carried 
to the hospital wagon amid the sympathetic 
murmur of the crowd. 

But while they were accomplishing this some 
one cried, “Fire! Fire!” and the throng of 
spectators shuddered. 

In the fall of the building the water pipes had 
been sundered, and were pouring out immense 
streams. But so, also, had the electric wires 
been cut in two, and in several places were 
spitting out a torrent of sparks, which greatly 
intimidated and impeded the workers. 

One such wire in the midst of the rubbish 
had doubtless set the fire which now was seen 
bursting forth in a dozen different places. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


FOREMAN JENNIE, 



HE workers shrank back affrighted from the 


* fierce outbursts of the fire and the fiercer 
sputtering of the volcanic electric wires. Their 
defeat, however, was only for the moment. 
The fire alarm was turned in, and soon the 
clanging, throbbing engines came sweeping 
down the crowded street. The lighting com- 
pany was ordered to turn off the deadly current, 
and instantly the fire cascades were ended. 

Jack and the two girls were far back in the 
ruins, but, as we know, were in no serious dan- 
ger, now the fire was stopped. Mr. Phillips, 
driven frantic by the sight of Dick’s white face, 
set more and more men to work, promising higher 
and higher pay for harder service. In his heart 
he cursed his greed that had led these lives into 
so imminent peril. Money had never looked so 
small to him before. 

At length the long, rough tunnel through the 


212 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


213 


heap of rubbish had reached our prisoners. 
Jack was first lifted out. He fainted with the 
pain as the cruel beam was pressed away from his 
broken leg and he himself pulled out from his 
dangerous captivity. As he was being trans- 
ferred to the ambulance, however, he came to 
himself sufficiently to wave his hand to the little 
company of compositors looking tearfully on ; 
and oh, how the mighty cheer rolled along that 
street, now thronged for blocks with a horror- 
stricken crowd ! 

But the cheers redoubled as Jennie and Sallie, 
pale with excitement, and smoke-stained, but 
unhurt, were led out of the ruins. 

“ Hooray ! Hurrah ! Hurr-a-a-h ! ” It was 
a rough but very human thanksgiving for four 
saved lives. 

Smoke-stained and tear-stained as the girls 
were, their clothing torn and soiled, Mr. Phillips 
clasped them in his arms, and said, “ Thank 
God ! ” as he never had said it before. And 
ever after the terrible suspense of that half-hour 
the rich man’s life was made better by the 
shameful consciousness that only God’s kindness, 


214 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


working a wonderful deliverance, had saved 

him from a murderer’s curse. 

***** 

I cannot tell you of the reception the girls 
gave their rescued comrades, of Jennie’s return 
home, of her mother’s thanksgiving, of her 
Cousin Catharine’s grumbling satisfaction. Nor 
can I tell you about the visits of the reporters, 
each wanting Jennie’s story of her experience in 
the ruins, nor of the two happy days spent in the 
dear home while the new office was being fitted 
up. 

For of course The White Plume must have 
new quarters, and that as soon as possible. 
From his cot in the hospital, with cheery-faced 
Dick convalescing in a cot by his side, Jack 
planned out the new establishment with Mr. 
Phillips, — the type that should be bought, and 
the other furnishings of the office. On the 
second day after the fall of the old building, 
Jennie received this letter: — 

Dear Miss Rolland : — 

I write you with a deep sense of the sinfulness of 
my action in requiring you, with the four others, to 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


215 


return to that falling building. You will understand 
with what horror I shrink from the thought of what 
might have happened, and will forgive me for the 
fewness of these words of reference to the matter. I 
hope you will forgive me, as I pray to God to be for- 
given. 

During Mr Edwards’s recovery, which may be a 
tedious one, as his injuries are somewhat complicated, 
though mercifully small compared to what they might 
easily have been, our new office must have some one 
in charge, and he himself names you as the one of all 
his force competent for that position. In a few days, 
I hope, Richard Caswell will have recovered suffi- 
ciently to aid you in the heavier manual labor. If you 
agree to this, kindly assume charge to-morrow morn- 
ing. 

Very sincerely yours, 

Grant L. Phillips. 

P. S. No more Leader copy will be given out in my 
office. 

This offer Jennie had slight hesitancy in 
accepting. She knew how much Jack would 
prefer to have his place filled for the time with 
some one acquainted with The White Plume 
and the ways of its office, rather than by a 


21 6 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


blundering stranger. As to her fitness for the 
work, too, she felt few doubts. During the 
weeks of her business life, our young business 
woman had remembered her dead brother’s 
wise saying: “No fellow does any good in a 
place if he is not fitting himself for a higher 
position.” 

Jennie had kept her blue eyes well open. 
Her quick hands had been ever ready to assist 
in any work where she might be needed. I 
have had no opportunity in the course of my 
story to detail her progress in her chosen art,- — 
which is so truly one of the arts beautiful ; but 
the progress had been made, and that rapidly. 
She had begun by lifting stickfuls of type for 
Jack from the galley into the chase, when she 
had chances of doing that little service. Seeing 
how neatly and safely his new compositor 
managed this difficult operation, Jack got to 
calling on her more and more often to help make 
up pages when he was in a hurry. 

In this way Jennie had picked up quite a store 
of information regarding the foreman’s art, and 
had obtained such skill in it that Jack had no 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 217 

doubt about her ability to fill his place, especially 
with Dick’s assistance. 

What a welcome our young business woman 
received on her entrance to the beautiful new 
quarters of The White Plume! In the first 
place, there was the room itself, large and sunny, 
a window for each pair of compositors, new 
type glittering in new cases, a great white 
imposing-stone with a wide window to itself, 
everything bright and fresh. Then there were 
the girls — all of them — rushing up to her and 
Sallie, hugging them and rejoicing over them. 
And when Sallie turned impulsively and threw 
her arms about Jennie, every one was doubly 
happy, for they knew that the old trouble which 
for so many days had vexed the office was at an 
end. 

But Sallie was not satisfied with that. Hers 
was an honest soul, and she knew that the con- 
fession of the wrong done should be as public 
as the wrong, so she seized this opportunity, and 
bravely faced the little company, interrupting 
their congratulations : — 

“ Girls, I have something I must tell you, 


2l8 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


though I am ashamed to tell it. You remember 
that lost chapter of the serial that Jennie was 
blamed for? Well, I stole it, and got her 
blamed,” and she flung herself into a corner, 
burying her face in her hands, while convul- 
sive sobs shook her body. 

After Sallie’s confession the office was united, 
and Jennie found none of the girls disobedient 
to her authority, as she had feared they might 
be. This was well, for her work was difficult 
enough without any hindrance. She met with 
a thousand unexpected troubles. Mr. Barton 
was at her side often with a kindly word and a 
timely hint, for he felt that he could not do 
enough for Jennie to atone for his former injus- 
tice, — and both kindness and advice were 
needed. That number of The White Plume 
was already three days late, and likely to be 
still further delayed. Even Jack would have 
had his hands full, had he been there, and it 
was a severe test for a beginner, and she a girl. 

The work of foreman in a printing-office is 
no sinecure. The compositors must be kept 
occupied, “ takes ” must be so arranged that the 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


219 


matter may be ready for each page by the time 
it should be made up, proof must be sent to the 
proof-readers, and careful account of what each 
compositor does must be kept for the weekly 
pay-roll. 

In the make-up of a page of a paper there 
are a myriad details the uninitiated would never 
think about. The titles of the articles must not 
come too near the bottom of the page, nor 
opposite each other in contiguous columns. 
Short and long articles must be so mingled as 
to give each page a bright look. The wood cuts 
must be inserted in connection with the stories 
they illustrate, yet in artistic positions on the 
page. Here a line has to be spaced out to make 
two lines, to avoid ending a column with a new 
paragraph. The editor’s ideas regarding the 
paper may not be such as can be carried out at 
all in type. Besides, there comes in the further 
complication of the advertising man, with his 
scores of “ ads.,” a bewildering number of them 
labelled “tcnr m,” which means, being trans- 
lated, “top of column, next to reading-matter”; 
and there may be more of these “ special posi- 


220 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

tion ” advertisements than there are special 
positions to fill. 

Then the mere matter of “locking up the 
forms ” is no slight job. Alongside the columns 
of type as they lie in the “ chase ” run sticks of 
wood and of iron, called “ furniture.” Between 
these and the chase are placed wedges of steel 
called “ quoins.” 

. The quoins are toothed, and, by a key which 
fits into them, the teeth are made to slide past 
each other, thus squeezing the type as compactly 
as is possible. It will easily be seen that a 
column only a trifle longer than its neighbors, 
or a line only a trifle narrower or wider, would 
result in that printers’ Waterloo known as 
“pi.” 

Notwithstanding all these difficulties, which 
were greatly increased, as any printer knows, 
by the fact that new type was used, Jennie did 
remarkably well. Grace helped her in the 
heavy work of lifting the forms, and Dick soon 
brought his pale face from the hospital, and 
aided a little, though for some time his sunny 
temper was of more assistance than his muscle. 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


221 


Before Dick’s return, however, several things 
happened, about which I must now tell. One 
of the first was Jennie’s reception of a second 
note from Mr. Phillips, evidently written just 
after a visit to the hospital, and saying that 
Foreman Edwards wished to see her there, to 
talk over the coming Christmas number of The 
While Plume . 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


IN THE HOSPITAL, 


FTER arranging for the progress of the 



work in her absence, Jennie set out at 
once to make the desired visit to the hospital. 
The building set her to shivering as she ap- 
proached it. It was a massive structure, whose 
architect, like the builders of most hospitals, 
seemed to have taken a court house and a fac- 
tory for his models, rather than a home. 

Once within, the shivers grew no less. Every- 
thing was scrupulously clean, but everything 
also was formal. This not being the proper 
time for visitors, Jennie would have found access 
difficult or impossible, had it not been for Mr. 
Phillips’ letter ; but the rich man’s autograph had 
weight. As our printer walked along the hushed 
corridors, muffled doors here and there opening 
for impassive attendants, the slight but perva- 
sive odor of drugs made her sick. 

Arrh^d, however, at the private room where 


222 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


223 


Mr. Phillips had tenderly housed Jack and Dick, 
all these disagreeable impressions were at once 
removed. It was bright, sunny, and cozy. The 
walls were a dead white, to be sure, but Mr. 
Phillips had sent from his own home some of his 
rarest pictures. The floors were hard and 
polished, but Mr. Phillips had forced on the 
hospital’s disapproving sanitarian some of his 
brightest rugs. There lay on a convenient table 
some delicate grapes and a collection of attrac- 
tive books and magazines, as well as that comi- 
cal bit of sculpture, “ A Capital Joke.” In fine, 
Mr. Phillips’s repentant thoughtfulness and full 
purse had transformed an apartment once graced 
only by the floods of cheery sunlight into a sick- 
room that would reconcile anyone to being sick. 

As she entered, two eager hands were stretched 
out toward Jennie from the two cots, and Jack 
and Dick simultaneously cried, “Welcome!” 
“ Hail, Foreman Jennie ! ” 

“ Why, I feel,” said Jennie, “ almost as if we 
were comrades of some battle, and you two had 
been more unlucky than I with the bullets.” 

“ Oh, that was a terrible morning, indeed,” 


224 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

said Jack, as Jennie took the great easy chair 
that awaited whichever of the two should first 
become able to sit up. 

“ Bad for us,” piped up Dick, “ but good for 
Mr. Phillips. Why, he seems like a different 
man. You wouldn’t know him for the red-faced 
aristocrat that bullied us so the night we called 
on him. He is so kind and thoughtful, and he 
visits us every day, and he always brings us 
something nice. I was telling Jack a few min- 
utes ago that that fiery experience had at least 
burned some ugly clay into a brick ! ” 

“ And he is never tired talking about you, 
Miss Rolland. He says few girls would have 
the grit to take up the work of foreman of a 
printing-office, and especially at such a time as 
this.” Jack spoke with much warmth. 

“ But, Mr. Edwards, I don’t see how he can 
know much about that, as he hasn’t been to the 
new office since the force got to work again,” 
replied Jennie. 

Dick smiled mischievously. “ I think, Jennie, 
it’s some one else who is never tired talking 
about you ! ” 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


225 


“ Well,” said Jennie, heartily angry with the 
hot flush that leaped to her cheeks, “ I don’t 
think there’s a girl in the office that wouldn’t be 
glad to do just what I am doing, to help out in 
such an emergency as this.” 

“Yes, if they could!” interjected Foreman 
Edwards. But, seeing that compliments were 
distasteful to our young woman of business, he 
went on to speak of the matter that especially 
needed attention. 

“You haven’t forgotten, have you, that next 
week we must get out our double Christmas 
number? That’s why I wanted to consult with 
you to-day.” 

“ No,” answered Jennie. “ It has been loom- 
ing up before me like a great castle, that has to 
be stormed.” 

“ You’ll capture it all right. I’m not worry- 
ing a particle on that score. But there are some 
things about it I wanted to make sure you 
understood. In the first place, do you under- 
stand the folios of a double number?” 

And here the talk took a decidedly technical 
turn, and need not be reported. Jack and his 


226 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


deputy went over with care all the detail of the 
double number, the planning for which and its 
execution were more difficult than for a single 
number in a thousand points it would be inter- 
esting to describe, if one had time. 

This being finished at last — “Though I am 
sure,” said Jennie, “I shall find a hundred 
fresh problems as soon as I begin on that 
number” — Jennie started to go, but Jack 
detained her. 

“There is just one thing more,” he said, 
“that I must talk about, and it is on a very 
different subject.” Here he hesitated. 

“You know you gave me that little book on 
Christian evidences. Well, I have never told 
you, Miss Rolland, how much good that little 
book did. For all my boasted thoroughness, 
I am ashamed to say I had never really studied 
that side before, and I had absolutely no idea of 
the impregnable strength of Christian teachings. 
I tested the arguments of the book on the friend 
who had been most responsible for my skepti- 
cism, and, though he sneered and ridiculed, he 
could not answer. Then I thought I was a 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


227 


Christian, because I believed in the historical 
Christ, but I had a talk one evening with a 
splendid young fellow, Paul Strong, a minister 
— you know about him? ” 

Jennie nodded. 

“ And he showed me so clearly that Chris- 
tians had something that I did not have and that 
I needed that I became very uneasy and 
anxious. Then came the terrible accident, and 
I tell you, Miss Rolland, down in that black- 
ness, with the awful weight on top of me and 
the fire creeping toward me, I felt myself on 
the very edge of this life, looking off into — 
well, it was all as black as that cavern in the 
ruins. You told me to pray, and I think I 
did pray, and I have been praying ever since 
that Christ would show me himself. But he 
does not do it. I cannot seem to get near to 
him. Mr. Strong talked about him as he 
would of a very dear friend that he could 
hear and see right in the room with him, but 
I cannot feel that way. And yet I am pray- 
ing hard and often. Now, Miss Rolland, what 
can I do? ” 


228 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


Again, as once before, Jennie felt herself 
wretchedly weak in the presence of a great 
task. 

“ O Mr. Edwards, I do not know what to 
say. I am so ignorant. I have no words to 
tell my own feelings toward my Saviour, and 
how can I help you to feel the same way? I 
only know — ” 

Jennie was glad to have Dick’s interrup- 
tion. “Jack, old fellow, why have you kept 
still about all this? Why haven’t we been talk- 
ing about it while we were lying here, instead 
of about novels and the printing-office ? ” 

“ Well, Dick, some way — I know it’s foolish 
— but it’s hard for me to talk on that subject, 
and especially to bring it up.” 

“ I guess I know,” answered his comrade, 
“ and I ought to have remembered how I used 
to feel about it. It is my own fault. I just took 
it for granted you were hardened in your 
skepticism, and there was no use.” 

Dick had yet to learn — as most of us have, 
for that matter — that it is always of use to talk 
about Christ. 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 229 

By this time Jennie had recovered from her 
confusion. “I remember,” she said, “some- 
thing my minister once said. It helped me very 
much just where you seem to need help. He 
said that the trust in Christ of most Christians 
stops short of the very point where we most need 
to trust him, — our feelings. We do Christ’s 
will, he said, and we soon come to trust him to 
bring the right results from our actions ; and if 
anything fails that we try to do for him, we 
trust him, and believe that it is best our attempt 
should fail. And he said that one of the most 
important results of actions is feeling, and we 
should trust him for that result, too.” 

“Ah, Miss Rolland, that is right to the point. 
I thought you could help me. You mean that 
if Christ wants me to feel his presence he will 
make me conscious of it, and if he doesn’t, it’s 
all right?” 

“Yes; I am sure that, if we do his will, he 
will give us all the joys that are best for us. 
And this sense of his presence is a joy and a 
blessing, but it isn’t a duty. That is another 
thing my minister said.” 


230 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


With this Jennie again rose to go, but this 
time it was Dick who detained her. 

“Jennie, we haven’t had any Christian En- 
deavor meeting this week. At least I know I 
haven’t, and I don’t suppose you have had one, 
either. Why not have a little one before you go ? ” 
Jennie looked timidly at Jack, who smiled 
brightly and said, “ Oh, I should like it so much, 
if you will let me take part, too. And it will be 
in a better way this time,” he added, shame- 
facedly. 

There was a Bible on the table, and Jennie 
found the eighteenth psalm, giving the book to 
Dick. They read the wonderful words among 
them, each reading a few verses in turn. How 
well they fitted their recent experiences ! 

“ Then the earth shook and trembled, 

The foundations also of the mountains moved 
And were shaken, because he was wroth. 

There went up a smoke out of his nostrils, 

And fire out of his mouth devoured : 

Coals were kindled by it. 

He bowed the heavens also, and came down ; 

And thick darkness was under his feet. 


IN THE HOSPITAL. 


231 


He sent from on high, he took me ; 

He brought me forth also into a large place ; 

He delivered me, because he delighted in me. 

Therefore will I give thanks.” 

Indeed, the hearts of those three young people 
were moved to praise as they read those glowing 
words. Jennie was the first to pray. Very 
simply she bowed her head and talked to the 
One close at hand: “ Dear Saviour, we thank 
thee for thy care over us that terrible night. 
We pray thee to take care of us through all our 
days. Wilt thou remove our doubts, and give 
strength where we are weak, and help us to love 
thee and serve thee. For thou hast promised it. 
Amen.” 

Then Dick, lying with closed eyes, prayed 
reverently: “Our Father, we bless thee for 

preserving our lives. Help us now to consecrate 
them to thee more than ever before. Remove 
all things that keep us from seeing thee and 
knowing thee as thou wouldst have us see and 
know thee. And teach us to trust thee in all 
things. For Jesus’ sake. Amen.” 

Finally Jack, his voice trembling with deep 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


232 

emotion, uttered the first prayer he had ever 
made aloud in the presence of his fellow mor- 
tals : “Dear Lord, I believe; help thou my 

unbelief. Amen.” 

A moment they remained with bowed heads. 
That room in the hospital had become a Bethel. 
God seemed very near to all of them. 

Truly it was with a happy heart that Jennie 
left the place. The oppressive odors of drugs 
were now the very incense of prayer and praise, 
and the long, hushed corridors of the hospital 
were the aisles of a temple. Her heart was 
singing the song of songs, joy over a soul that 
was coming into the light. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE CHRISTMAS NUMBER. 

HAT Christmas number proved to be the 



* most difficult task to which Jennie had ever 
laid hands. Few people appreciate the infinite 
labor spent nowadays on our noble periodicals, 
and especially on the beautiful special numbers 
now so common, — the Easter number, the 
Thanksgiving number, the Christmas number, 
and what not. For weeks and sometimes 
months beforehand men are busy on these. 
The editor is planning the literary contents and 
soliciting articles from the brightest and best 
writers in the world. The manuscripts having 
arrived, artists are set to work promptly, for 
good pictures do not grow in a day. Then after 
the artists come the engravers, whose toil is now 
much abbreviated by many mechanical processes. 

In the meantime the advertising manager and 
his subordinates are scouring the country with 
their prospectuses, wringing out from soap men 


233 


234 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


and bicycle men and typewriter men and baking 
powder men the advertisements that alone make 
the special number possible. The business 
manager is ordering his extra paper, and a 
quantity of unusually fine “ stock ” for the cover. 
The cover itself is put through the press long 
beforehand, for its beautiful design in colors 
requires slow and careful work. 

The whole number would be prepared and 
printed long before it is, were it not for their 
majesties, the advertisements, for whose digni- 
fied advent the pages must all remain “ open” 
till the very last available minute. 

Understanding this need for long preparation, 
you will see what havoc the great accident made 
with the Christmas number of The White Plume . 
In the hurried removal several manuscripts in- 
tended for it were left behind. All the pictures 
were destroyed, and both artists and engravers 
had to go to work again, at lightning speed. In 
the confusion incident to settling a new set of 
offices it would be hard enough to get out a reg- 
ular number ; to publish a special number was 
difficult, indeed. 


THE CHRISTMAS NUMBER. 235 

Besides these necessary hindrances, there came 
in, as might have been expected, many that 
were not necessary. A well-known author had 
promised a story which was to be the leading 
feature of the number, but the most strenuous 
letters and telegrams had no effect on His Liter- 
ary Highness. Either from sloth or from ugli- 
ness, he would not write. Many successful 
writers attain the freakishness so proverbial 
among spoiled public singers. 

The paper went to the press in four “ forms,” 
or sets of pages. Manuscripts for one form were 
in type, but the pictures were delayed ; for an- 
other form articles and cuts were ready, but the 
accompanying advertisements failed to appear. 
The compositors grew tired with the extra work, 
and their proofs were full of errors. The boy 
who carried the pages of type down to the elec- 
trotype foundry in his heavy black wheelbarrow 
was careless in handling one page, and “ pied ” 
it. 

Jennie set out with a heavy heart on the last 
day of this arduous labor. Her worry, how- 
ever, was not at all for her work ; it was for her 


236 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

mother. Mrs. Rolland had suffered for months 
with a treacherous disease whose slow approach 
and crafty progress were most distressing. The 
climax was at hand. It meant rapid recovery 
or equally rapid sinking into death. Jennie’s 
spirit was constantly in prayer for her gentle 
mother, and every moment was darkened by a 
great fear. Mrs. Rolland needed but little care, 
and that Cousin Catharine was abundantly able 
to give; yet Jennie would have left her work to 
watch in the sick-room, were the circumstances 
of that work less urgent. 

On this day especially the white face on the 
pillow had been so very pale, and the doctor’s 
face so very grave, that Jennie, in spite of her 
usual self-control, had burst into tears on bid- 
ding her mother good-by. 

“ Oh, I must stay with you to-day, darling 
mother, I must, I must!” 

“ No, my dear child, don’t think of it. You 
couldn’t do anything, and if I am worse they 
will telegraph to you. I shall be happier if I 
know that my daughter is where she is needed, 
doing her duty.” 


THE CHRISTMAS NUMBER. 237 

And so Jennie had gone, with red eyes and a 
sinking heart, to the station. 

For this particular day the culmination of 
trials seemed to have been reserved. In the 
first place, Editor Barton, whose temper, as we 
have already seen, was not the most equable in 
the world, had become quite nervous and worried 
with all this extra work. The first thing that 
morning he marked two cuts for insertion in 
different articles, and contrived to mark them in 
the wrong way, so that each picture got in the 
wrong article. 

To the uninitiated this will seem a smaller 
blunder than it was. These cuts were purposely 
made irregular in shape, and into all their 
prominent angles the type had been neatly 
fitted. Moreover, the cuts were of very dif- 
ferent sizes, so that before the two could 
exchange places both pages had to be “ run 
over,” each line, that is, taken up in the com- 
posing-stick and changed to a different “ meas- 
ure,” or length. 

Like all hasty men, Editor Barton charged 
his own blunders to some one else’s account, 


238 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


and when this error was brought to his atten- 
tion he rasped out some unkind and unjust 
remarks that rankled in Jennie’s heart for many 
hours. 

So it went on, the livelong day. As one vexa- 
tion followed another, and especially as her 
aching heart went out toward the distant sick- 
bed, our foreman could scarcely restrain the 
tears, and nothing but a very practical Chris- 
tianity kept her from utter gloom and despond- 
ency. 

The worst of all troubles was with the adver- 
tisements. On this last day, when the last form 
must be completed, they came in a perfect 
deluge, and Jennie dreaded the very sight of 
the “ advertising man,” his hands full of fresh 
“ plate ads.” or of advertisement copy that must 
be set up. Over and over the pages were 
re-arranged, as new advertisements, with vary- 
ing demands for ‘ 4 positions,” required. Pages 
all ready for the foundry must be “unlocked” 
and “ made over.” 

To the trained eye of a printer many of these 
changes “ to get position ” were especially vexa- 


THE CHRISTMAS NUMBER. 239 

tious. Big black “ ads.” were brought out with 
double conspicuousness, a great disfigurement 
to the page. Reading matter must be laid out 
in awkward step-ladders in order to furnish the 
“top column next to reading matter” so vora- 
ciously demanded. The nice balance of the 
pages, for which a printer looks as jealously as 
an artist seeks for harmony in a picture’s com- 
position, was often entirely ruined. 

But the climax came late in the afternoon, 
just as the last page of the last “form” was 
ready to be “locked up.” Mr. Samson, the 
advertising manager, came bustling in excitedly. 

“Just reached me!” he cried. “Didn’t 
expect to get it. Great luck ! This ad. must 
go in if nothing else does. First business we 
ever had from this firm. What ! only one 
page left? You should have held more. No 
telling what may come at the last moment. 
Well, squeeze this in, anyway.” And he hur- 
ried off. 

Jennie took a proof of the new “ad.,” which 
came, as most advertisements now come, already 
electrotyped, the block prepared for placing at 


240 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


once in the page. She looked at it with much 
disfavor, which increased as she read. 

44 Why ! ” she exclaimed, 4 4 this ought never 
to go into The White Plante.” 

It was the advertisement of a large dealer in 
music, whose productions were not of the best 
character, and whose mode of selling them was 
worse than the songs themselves. This par- 
ticular notice closed with the statement, made 
in the most glaring type, that every one-hun- 
dredth purchaser of a certain packet of songs 
would receive 44 a handsome diamond ring” as 
44 a free present.” The 44 unparalleled offer” 
was set forth with all the attractiveness of the 
most ingenious modern advertisement writer. 
It would certainly do much mischief. 

Jennie at once carried the proof to Mr. Samson. 

44 Surely you have not read this advertise- 
ment, Mr. Samson,” she said. 44 Why, it is 
nothing but a lottery.” 

The man of the measuring rule scanned 
coldly the paper laid before him. His business 
was not conducive to the making of nice moral 
distinctions. 


THE CHRISTMAS NUMBER. 


24I 


“ I do not see anything out of the way,” he 
said promptly. “I know the firm. It is per- 
fectly reliable. Those rings will be sent as 
promised, and they will answer to the descrip- 
tion.” 

“ But only one in a hundred gets one.” 

“ Of course. You don’t suppose a firm could 
sell a diamond ring and a package of music for 
fifty cents, do you?” 

“ But no one knows who will get the ring.” 

“ Every one gets his fifty cents’ worth in the 
music. What more could you ask?” 

“ It seems clear to me, Mr. Samson, that 
this advertisement is precisely in line with the 
lotteries, and a training for them. I do not 
think it ought to go into a paper, especially one 
for young people.” 

“Well, Miss Rolland, I think it should, and 
I am the only one responsible.” With this curt 
remark, Mr. Samson put on his overcoat and 
went home. 

The business manager had gone home, also, 
and there was no one left to consult but Editor 
Barton, whom Jennie found just closing his desk. 


242 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


“What!” he cried, when Jennie presented 
her problem. “ Another ad. ? And hasn’t that 
last page gone to the electrotyper’s yet? Why, 
we’ll be late in getting to press if you don’t 
hurry faster, Miss Rolland. This ad. ? Hum — 
um — um. Bah! It’s abominable. Call Mr. 
Samson’s attention to it.” 

“ I have, sir. He insists on its going in, and 
has gone home.” 

“Eh? Well, speak to Mr. Searles about 
it” — naming the business manager. 

“ He’s gone home, too.” 

“Well, then, I don’t know what you’ll do 
about it. / have no authority to order it out.” 

“ Hadn’t it better be taken to Mr. Phillips?” 

“Yes, if you want to do it yourself. I must 
go home and get to bed. I am all tired out, 
and my head aches.” 

Jennie wanted to tell him that her head ached, 
too, and that she was longing to get home for 
far other reasons than weariness. 

“ If Mr. Phillips’ tells you to leave it out — as 
I doubt not he will — send that page to the 
foundry just as soon as possible. If the ad. has 


THE CHRISTMAS NUMBER. 243 

to go in, then I suppose you must leave out 
Gilbert’s short article.” With this, the editor 
hurried home, leaving Jennie to her own devices. 

What should she do? She was tired in every 
fibre of her body, faint and sick with over- 
work, and borne down most of all by anxiety 
for the dear mother, who might even then be 
nearing death. Why not rest on Mr. Samson’s 
positive orders, insert the advertisement, and 
hurry home? 

Well, I think by this time you can be quite 
sure what Jennie would do in a case like this. 
She read once more the crafty notice, in which 
lay wrapped up the seeds of so much possible 
sin and ruin, pressed her lips tightly together, 
and put on her wraps to go to the proprietor of 
The White Plume . 


CHAPTER XX. 


NIGHT WORK 


NCE more, and under circumstances quite 



different from those of her first trip, 
Jennie took the long ride out to Mr. Phillips’s 
grand house. Every stop of the car upon a 
street corner seemed to take an intolerable time, 
and her anxious spirit lashed on the very elec- 
tricity overhead: “Oh, hurry ! hurry! Here’s 
a girl half crazed to see her sick mother.” 
The car was crowded with men returning 
from their offices, and to Jennie’s impatience it 
would have been a great relief to get out and 


walk 


She was fortunate in finding the proprietor of 
The White Plume at home. He received her 
in his study, and gave her a welcome whose 
cordiality was a surprise. 

“You are Miss Rolland, of the accident? 
Oh, that terrible night ! Can you ever forgive 
me ? I was such a brute ! ” 


244 


NIGHT WORK. 


2 45 


Jennie was at a loss for a fit answer. 

“ I wonder you will keep on in my service at 
all, and you are doing such noble work for me 
now ! Be sure I know about it, though I have 
not yet had time to see you presiding over a 
printing-house.” 

“It is about that work that I have come,” 
said Jennie, and showed him the pernicious 
advertisement. 

She was quite astonished at the eagerness of 
his reply. He appeared anxious to prove to 
her that his heart was not so fixed on gold as 
it had been. 

“ Insert it? Of course not! Why, that 
might poison the lives of thousands. Leave it 
out, and every other advertisement of similar 
nature ! ” 

Her errand thus successfully accomplished, 
Jennie returned on electric cars that, going in 
this direction, were little delayed. She would 
at once send the last page to the foundry, and 
be just in time to catch a train home. 

But alas ! everything seemed bent on de- 
taining her that doleful night. At the entrance 


246 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


of the building was Harry awaiting her. His 
face was pale, and his voice trembled as he 
spoke. 

“ Miss Rolland — father ! ” 

“Well? What is the matter, Harry? ” 

“Father is — is — under the influence of 
liquor, and it will never do to let him run the 
press to-night.” 

Here was indeed a problem ! Jennie knew 
well how important it was, if the Christmas 
number was to appear on time, that the press 
should be run all night. She followed Harry 
downstairs to the basement. (In this new build- 
ing the press was there situated, placed, as it 
should be, on a solid foundation separate from 
that of the building above it.) 

Here she found Pressman Joe, bending over 
a large table on which he was “ making ready” 
the form. His body was swaying from side to 
side, and he was stuttering out some maudlin 
nonsense. 

“ Harry, you must take him home, and we 
must get another foreman for to-night. Do you 
know of any one ? ” 


NIGHT WORK. 


2 4 7 

“ No,” said Harry. 

“But I do,” said the feeder, the stout and 
stupid young fellow of whom I have spoken in 
a former chapter. “ He lives not far from the 
Bankses. I will help Harry get his father 
home, and will hurry back with the other 
man.” 

“That is what must be done,” answered 
Jennie, and watched with loathing the sicken- 
ing sight as the boy and the young man sup- 
ported the cursing, foolish sot, and drew him, 
reeling, from the room. 

“What is my duty now?” she wondered, 
as she hastened upstairs to send the impatient 
lad who had been waiting, with the last page, 
down to the electrotype foundry. The answer 
was clear. She must stand by the ship. She 
must wait till she was sure the new foreman was 
on hand, and in the meantime she must do what 
she could. 

A telegraph office was a few doors away. 
She rushed to it, and sent off this telegram to 
Cousin Catharine : “Am delayed by work. 
How is mother ? ’* Leaving directions where an 


248 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

answer would find her, she hastened back to the 
lonely basement. There was work there that 
she could do, and urgent work. 

Fortunately, Pressman Joe had placed the 
pages of the form in position on the bed of the 
press. It was the third form, Jennie just having 
sent to the foundry the last page of the fourth 
and last form. He was working on the “ make 
ready” when his drunkenness overpowered him, 
aided by his pocket flask. The proof had been 
taken, and he had gone so far as to cover the 
great sheet with the complicated marks indica- 
tive of the places where the tympan must be 
thickened or the reverse. In going back and 
forth before the press in the old quarters Jennie 
had often watched this process, and understood 
it perfectly. She knew that, Pressman Joe 
having done the technical work, her ready 
fingers could speedily carry out the mechanical 
details. 

Taking Joe’s shears, and the kind of paper 
she had seen him use, Jennie set to work, cut- 
ting and pasting. And she worked none the 
less steadily and correctly because every minute 


NIGHT WORK. 


2 49 

from her anxious heart went up a prayer, “O 
God, restore her! Dear Jesus, preserve her to 
me, if it be thy will ! ” 

When Harry and the feeder returned they 
gave a cry of astonishment at sight of Jennie’s 
work, then on the point of completion. 

“ Why, how did you learn to do that? ” they 
asked. 

“ By using my eyes,” answered Jennie, laugh- 
ing. “It’s easy enough, when the work is all 
laid out beforehand.” 

Harry always helped his father in this task, 
and he examined the sheet critically. 

“Splendid!” he cried, indicating only a few 
places where were marks that Jennie had not 
understood, and showing her how to prepare the 
sheet in those points. 

“ But when is the pressman coming, Harry?” 

“ He isn’t coming. He had a job somewhere 
else, and we don’t know where to go for an- 
other. Alec” (indicating the feeder) “and I 
decided, as we came along, that we could do it 
ourselves, if you could help us, and then — then 
— it needn’t get out about father. If it did, I’m 


250 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


afraid ne would lose his place, and then he 
would go all to pieces.” 

“ But I don’t know enough to help you,” 
objected Jennie, in dismay. 

“At night my father and I watch the press, 
taking turn about, while Alec feeds. We 
haven’t had to work much at night, but I have 
learned all about it, I am sure, and I could show 
you, so you could take my place, turn about. 
Alec is fresh, but I have been here all day and 
all last night, and I couldn’t do the work to- 
night alone, I am sure.” 

Jennie hesitated — not about the work, for she 
had confidence in Harry, and knew him to be 
no empty boaster — but about the sick mother. 
While she hesitated a messenger boy brought 
this telegram: “Doctor says crisis safely 

passed. Catharine Tapley.” 

“ Dear Jesus, I thank thee ! I thank thee ! ” was 
Jennie’s silent prayer. “ Well, I’ll stay, Harry,” 
she decided heartily and at once. Then she wrote 
this message for the telegraph boy to return : — 

“Thank God for mother. Work keeps me 
here all night. Jennie Rolland.” 


NIGHT WORK. 


251 


All her fatigue seemed gone in a instant. 
The gloomy basement was aglow with light. 
Her heart sang jubilantly to itself, “ Mother 
getting well ! Mother well ! Mother well ! ” 

Harry fastened the make-ready sheet in its 
proper place on the tympan, and set the great 
machine to work, while Alec fed in the paper 
from above. All three scanned with interest, the 
result. “It’s light here,” said Harry. “This 
cut must be brought up,” said Alec. “And 
this place, — oh, how black ! ” exclaimed Jennie. 

So they went over the make-ready sheet once 
more, putting in the final touches. This time 
the proof fared better under their critical ex- 
amination. 

“Harry,” suggested Jennie, “I should feel 
much safer if you ran around the corner to the 
Record office and asked the foreman there to look 
at this and see if it is all right ; and I will go 
with you, to get points.” 

So the Record pressroom was treated to an 
unusual apparition, — a lovely young girl and a 
pale-faced boy, asking criticism of their own 
make-ready for a large press. 


252 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

The foreman was very complimentary. “ It 
is well done,” said he. He pointed out, how- 
ever, so many defects that they had no ground 
for much pride, and they took back to their 
basement a sheet pretty well scribbled over with 
make-ready symbols. 

This time the proof was a beautiful one. 
“Hurrah!” cried Harry. “I’m not ashamed 
to show that to any one. Feed away, Alec ! ” 
And while the big machine trembled and rum- 
bled the young pressman busied himself with 
showing Jennie just what work she would have 
to do during her night watches, — what parts 
needed oiling, and how often ; what parts must 
be wiped off ; how to tell when the electrotype 
plates needed cleaning ; how to regulate the 
flow of the ink, and the “ impression” made by 
the big rollers ; where and how to pile the 
printed sheets that fell from the press, and the 
like. 

Then.it was decided to watch the press each 
an hour at a time. Harry made the rough 
bench he himself had used as comfortable as he 
could, with overcoats and Jennie’s shawl, and 


NIGHT WORK. 


253 


Jennie was so weary with her hard day’s work 
and week’s work that she could have slept 
soundly on the floor. 

How strange it seemed to fall asleep amid 
the rumbling of the press, in that strange base- 
ment room, the incandescent lights casting huge, 
black shadows, and Alec on his high perch and 
Harry carrying his piles of printed sheets, each 
but silhouettes against the whitewashed wall. 
Jennie, however, thought little of all this; but 
her lullaby at every season of slumber was, 
“ Mother getting well ! Mother, mother, mother 
getting well ! I thank thee, Jesus, I thank 
thee ! ” 

The long night wore on without any adven- 
ture. The press needed little attention, and 
Jennie was obliged only once to waken Harry to 
ask him a question. Gradually the square little 
basement windows grew lighter, while the elec- 
tric light paled. Jennie woke from her last nap 
to find, with a start, that it was day. On a 
chair were sandwiches, coffee, and hard boiled 
eggs , — such a breakfast as Harry could pro- 
cure from the only restaurant at hand. Before 


254 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


the two had finished the repast, handing up 
his share to Alec, Lucy appeared, with her 
father. 

“ God bless you, you dear girl ! ” whispered 
Lucy, hugging Jennie, while Pressman Joe 
hung back, abashed. 

“Miss Rolland,” he said stammeringly, “I 
don’t know what to say for myself. I’m a 
beast. I’m worse than a beast. I — I — I — ” 
and the big man broke down altogether, sank 
on a chair, and sobbed as if his heart would 
break. 

“ Oh, Mr. Banks,” Jennie pleaded, “ do let 
drink alone. For your wife’s sake, for your 
dear children’s sake, for the sake of Christ, let 
it alone.” 

“ I am going to try,” said Pressman Joe, his 
voice still quivering. “ I have never really 
tried. But I have never been so ashamed of 
myself. To make a girl stay here all night and 
do my work ! I am going to try to conquer the 
drink. I am. I am. May God help me.” 

“ He will,” said Jennie eagerly, while Lucy’s 
arms were about her father, and Harry had 


NIGHT WORK. 


255 


hold of his hands, and Alec, from his perch, 
drew his stout hand across his eyes. 

And God did help Pressman Joe. 

Ascending to the composing-room, Jennie 
made her appearance as if nothing unusual had 
happened the night before. To her great joy, 
there was Dick, pale, but jolly. 

“ O Dick ! Back already? How glad I am ! ” 

“Yes,” said Dick; “rather shaky, but still 
I’m back, and happy to be here.” 

“And Mr. Edwards?” 

“ He’ll be here before many days, the doctor 
says. He’s doing famously.” 

Dick’s presence released Jennie, and, after 
putting him fully in touch with the new office 
and the present stage of the work, Jennie hur- 
ried home as fast as the train and her eager feet 
could carry her. Without waiting to answer 
very fully Cousin Catharine’s questions, she 
sped to the . sick-room, and loving mother and 
daughter were locked in each other’s arms. 
***** 

Sooner than any one expected, Jack appeared 
from the hospital. He came hobbling into the 


25 6 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


office on his crutches, and quickly became quite 
a hero. He could do no work, he explained, 
nor did the doctor promise him a very speedy 
recovery, on account of the shock, more than 
the broken bone ; but he wanted to see how 
Foreman Jennie was filling the shoes of Fore- 
man Jack. 

He soon found that he had a worthy suc- 
cessor. It was a great pleasure to our young 
printer to watch Jennie’s supple hands deftly 
moving about their difficult task. It almost 
seemed that the law of gravitation was sus- 
pended, so daringly did she handle the tricky 
bits of slippery metal ; and not one of them fell. 
He had the warmest praise, too, for the taste 
displayed in the make-up of the pages, proofs 
of which she showed him. All the morning 
Jack watched the lovely head bending over the 
imposing-stone, and never had a morning passed 
so quickly. 

That was Thursday, the day for the noonday 
meeting of the Printers’ Christian Endeavor 
Society. Jack got a hasty lunch in the neigh- 
boring restaurant, and Jennie’s face brightened 


NIGHT WORK. 


2 57 


when she saw him return and take his seat in 
their corner at the opening of the little meeting. 
This was Sallie’s first day as a Christian En- 
deavorer, and Jack saw that it was only a 
question of time before all the girls would join. 

He sat modestly through the entire meeting, 
and did not say a word. There was no extract 
from The Leader this time. 

As the meeting closed and the compositors 
returned to their tasks, Jack said to Jennie: — 
“Well, I have already stayed too long, so 
the doctor will say, but it has been such a 
pleasure ! Miss Rolland, won’t you just walk 
to the elevator with me?” 

And as Jack hobbled along by Jennie’s side, 
he asked her seriously : — 

“ Do you suppose, Miss Rolland, they will 
let me join that little society of Christian En- 
deavor? I have come to see clearer how much 
I need Christ, and how poorly I know him, and 
I do want to be his faithful follower, and to be 
known as such. What do you think?” 

What did Jennie think? You may imagine 
what she both thought and said. 


258 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


By this time they had reached the elevator 
shaft, and as Jack summoned the elevator he 
interrupted the eager words with which Jennie 
was expressing the gladness that her glad eyes 
spoke with sufficient eloquence, and in low and 
trembling tones he said : — 

“Jennie, that is only half what I wanted to 
ask you. The other question I must ask you 
when we are alone some day, and O, Jennie, I 
hope you will be as glad to hear it.” 

As our young business woman walked back 
to her foreman’s place she was blushing in a 
very unbusinesslike way, but a happy light 
shone in her eyes. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


FOREMAN JENNIE STILL. 

TT is Christmas time. A busy time at the 
* office of The White Plume , but fingers fly 
when hearts are light, and joy reigns in The 
White Plume office nowadays. 

“ What a pleasant place this is to work in ! ” 
say all the compositors. They do not stop to 
consider why it is so pleasant, but I know one or 
two reasons. 

There is Mr. Phillips, for one. “Was ever 
a man so changed? ” asks Dick. “ Why, before 
the accident he almost never came into the office, 
and never spoke to any of us, and I shall never 
forget his talk the famous night we strikers 
called on him. But now he is here two or three 
times a week, and he is always sending around 
some little treat of fruit, or some such thing, and 
he always speaks to us, and he even knows our 
names.” 

Then there is the great roomy place to work 


259 


260 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


in, with its floods of clear light, so dear to 
printers’ tired eyes ; with its pretty plants in the 
windows, and its cozy corner for the noonday 
lunch and for the weekly Christian Endeavor 
meetings. 

Yes, and there is the Christian Endeavor 
meeting itself, — one of the chief features in the 
new pleasantness of The White Plume office. 
For all the force are members now, — #//, — even 
Editor Barton ; even Pressman Joe ; even Tim, 
the elevator boy with the one arm and the stupid 
look in his dull face. Once a week they meet to- 
gether, — chairs are brought in, — and from every 
heart goes up some prayer, and from every mouth 
springs some testimony. And Editor Barton’s 
prayer is no longer than Tim’s, and Jack’s testi- 
mony is as humble and earnest as Lucy’s. And 
if you think that this printers’ Christian En- 
deavor Society does not have a wonderful influ- 
ence over every hour of the week’s work, 
sweetening and softening it, and filling it with 
health and joy, — I wish you would make the ex- 
periment of such a society in your own place of 
business, whatever it is, and try it for yourself. 


FOREMAN JENNIE STILL. 261 

It is Christmas time, I said, and every one in 
the composing-room is on tiptoe with interest 
and expectation. Nothing of the sort was ever 
known before. Mr. Phillips is to give a banquet 
to the force ! 

It is to come on Christmas Eve, and early that 
afternoon the compositors are sent home, “ so 
that we can change our clothes, and to get us 
out of the way,” explained Dick. Then came 
the caterer and his assistants, — a bustling host 
directed by Mr. Phillips, as happy as a king, — 
yes, happier than any king ever was, unless the 
king was in the way of doing good. 

Rattle, clatter ! Hustle the desks to one side. 
Move all the cases into the darkest corners. 
Pile up the stools — oh, anywhere ! How 
spacious seems the floor with this great clear 
space laid bare ! 

In a jiffy a long table is extemporized in the 
center of the room. Its plain boards are 
covered with pretty white cloths, and these soon 
sparkle with bright china and glassware, and 
glow with beautiful flowers. 

“Fairyland! fairyland!” cried the girls, on 


262 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


their return a few hours later. And indeed, 
under the mellow light of the large lamps that 
had been brought in, the place seemed meta- 
morphosed. High plants stood in front of the 
desks and stands and type-cases, and before 
everything else that could remind Mr. Phillips’s 
guests of their daily toil. 

And behold the host himself, as he does the 
honors for his employees ! The entire affair 
has not cost him one-tenth as much as one of his 
wife’s grand balls, yet he is enjoying it, it is 
safe to say, as he never enjoyed anything in his 
life before. They all file past him on their 
entrance, — clerks, book-keepers, “list-girls,” 
stenographers, office-boys, mailing-clerks, sub- 
scription-clerks, compositors, pressmen, editor, 
assistant editors, — every one of the large estab- 
lishment. And he knows the name of each and 
the personal circumstances of each. Nay, he 
has already become a warm friend to more than 
a few of them. 

Soon the merry company is talking in happy 
groups, or walking about admiring the flowers 
and the pictures that have been transferred from 


FOREMAN JENNIE STILL. 263 

Mr. Phillips’s own house. How handsome are 
our girls ! Clad in their rough, black cambric, 
with their blackened hands, our compositors 
have hardly a fair show with the “list-girls” 
and stenographers during the working hours ; 
but to-night, dressed neatly and tastefully as they 
all are, they are indeed a pleasing sight for the 
eyes, and Jack Edwards is proud of them, and 
gratified to hear the surprised comments that 
greet the metamorphosis of his company of 
grimy workers. 

Most of all, however, is he proud of a trim 
little figure in brown, a beautiful young girl who 
bears herself with womanly dignity, yet carries 
in her eyes a sparkle of mirth from which many 
another face is kindled. He has hard work to 
keep track of her, for she is everywhere about 
the room. She knows everybody, even the 
janitor, and the boy who tends the furnace in 
the cellar, and the woman who scrubs the floors ; 
and they all know her and love her. But, 
though she is everywhere throughout the room, 
it is noticed that at the table she is seated next to 
Jack. 


264 FOREMAN JENNIE. 

What a happy tableful is this ! Mr. Phillips 
still smiles to himself whenever he thinks of it, 
and he will feed on the remembrance of it until 
next Christmas, when he will do it all over again. 
The waiters catch the contagion of good cheer, 
and almost dance as they fly from guest to 
guest. Before these fresh young appetites the 
viands vanish rapidly, and it behooves the 
waiters to be lively. 

Pleasant chatter and light-hearted gaiety 
speed the courses that seem so tedious at a 
fashionable dinner, and the meal is over before 
we fairly deem it begun. In the midst of a 
sudden hush Mr. Phillips rises, and is greeted 
with tumultuous hand-clapping. And here is 
what he says : — 

“ Dear friends and fellow-laborers, maybe 
you wonder why we have our Christmas dinner 
here, instead of at my home. I hope to see you 
all there ; and many of you, I am glad to say, 
have found the way there during the last few 
weeks. But I have had this merry-making here 
because I want to emphasize the fact that here 
in our daily work we are one large family, with 


FOREMAN JENNIE STILL. 265 

common interests, common joys, and common 
sorrows. I want this feeling to animate your 
book-keeping, your editing, your type-setting, 
and everything else you do here. The cause 
of the labor troubles about which we hear so 
much nowadays is that the employer does not 
know his employees, nor they their employer, 
nor does either party to this divine partnership 
recognize the fact that it is a partnership, in 
which, if they are each faithful, they are joint 
workers for God. 

“I learned a lesson a few months ago, — a 
terrible lesson. You don’t need that I tell you 
what it was. I thank God that he sent it just 
when he did, before my soul was entirely hard- 
ened with love of gold. I don’t believe a lesson 
less terrible would have served to redeem me from 
that sin. Since that time I have been trying to 
love my neighbor as myself, and I commend it 
to you as the happiest of human occupations. 

“ Some of the talented among our number 
have kindly consented to add to the pleasure of 
the evening, and we are now to listen to some 
music and recitations.” 


266 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


There followed a very interesting hour. It 
was astonishing, even to the young people them- 
selves, to see what a variety of talents they had 
among them. And, to the wonder of everybody, 
by far the larger part of the entertainment was 
given by the composing-room force. 

Compositors are somewhat isolated from other 
workers, and their task is somewhat disagree- 
able to the fastidious, so that they are seldom 
given credit for the intelligence they must pos- 
sess in order to do their work well. This 
Christmas Eve Jack’s force covered themselves 
with glory. Grace played beautifully on the 
piano which Mr. Phillips had had brought up 
on the great freight elevator. Lucy, the timid, 
to everybody’s amazement, brought a violin. 
With this tucked under her pretty chin, she lost 
all her timidity, and set everybody’s feet tapping 
to her merry jigs, or touched every heart by the 
tender strains of “ Bonnie Doon.” 

Dick sang a comic song that set the room to 
roaring, and took part also in a composing-room 
quartette, with Jack for the bass, and Susan and 
Mary for the soprano and alto. Jennie’s con- 


FOREMAN JENNIE STILL. 


267 


tribution to the evening was Lowell’s “Present 
Crisis,” the brave, strong lines recited with a 
clear insight into their meaning and a force of 
earnest purpose that made every listener more 
manly and more womanly. 

After Jennie was through, and before he in- 
troduced the next performer, Mr. Phillips took 
occasion to remark : — 

“ I said at the beginning that this gathering 
is to emphasize the fact that we are all one 
family, — sorrowing in one another’s sorrows, 
and rejoicing in one another’s joys. I trust, 
therefore, that it will not be thought improper if 
I here give a hint of a coming event that I have 
great pleasure in contemplating. This event 
will concern most closely two young people 
whom I have come to honor and love, and, as 
they are now willing it should be known, I will 
venture to express in this family meeting the joy 
we all shall feel in their new happiness. One 
of the persons to whom I refer is a young man 
who will always continue, I hope, to be one of 
the most efficient and highly prized workers of 
this office. The other is a young woman whose 


268 


FOREMAN JENNIE. 


brave loyalty to her faith has strengthened us 
all, whose sunny temper has cheered us all, and 
whose pluck and skill in carrying out the very 
difficult work lately thrust upon her has 
energized us all. In talking with me the other 
day, this young man made a remark to which I 
heartily assent. He said in effect that, though 
in the office here he might rule as Foreman 
Jack, he saw in the not distant future a little 
home in which the reigning spirit would be 
Foreman Jennie.” 


W. A. WILDE & CO., PUBLISHERS. 


i 


TN WILD AFRICA. Adventures of Tivo Boys in the 
Sahara Desert , etc. By Col. Thos. W. Knox, author of “ The Boy 
Travelers,” “ The Young Nimrods,” “ A Lost Army,” etc. 325 
pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. 

The least known part of the Dark Continent is the one described in the new book 
“ In Wild Africa.” Central Africa has been traversed by many explorers, until every 
part of it is known, and the larger part of South Africa has entered the domain of civili- 
zation and is equipped with railway and wagon roads. Northern Africa, with the ex- 
ception of a strip two or three hundred miles wide along the coast of the Mediterranean, 
is almost a terra incognita ; its only roads are caravan trails, and comparatively few 
explorers have ventured to brave its inhospitalities. Lake Chad has been known to 
exist for more than ten centuries, but it has been seen by fewer white men than Lake 
Tanganyika and the Victoria Nyanza, both discovered within the past forty years. 

The narrative is replete with adventure and incident, combined with the description 
of the countries traversed and the people who inhabit them. A part of the route has 
been personally traveled by the author, who has thus been enabled to inform himself 
thoroughly concerning the countries he has described. 

No author understands better how to write for young people than Colonel Knox, 
and parents and guardians owe much to him for conveying a vast deal of very useful in- 
formation, geographical and historical, respecting the manners and customs of foreign 
nations. — Boston Commercial Bulletin. 

We can hardly imagine a better way of imparting information to young people. The 
present volume is similar in plan to those which preceded it, and is worthy of the same 
hearty commendation which was accorded them. — Christian Intelligencer , N . V. 



OREMAN JENNIE. A Young Woman of Business. 

By Amos R. Wells, editor of The Golden Rule. 268 pp. Illus- 


trated. Cloth, $1.25. 

Foreman Jennie was a young woman of business; she was also a young woman who 
was an out and out Christian, and nobly strove to live up to her ideals. She was the 
moving spirit in the formation of the Printers’ Christian Endeavor Society, whose 
struggles form one of the interesting features of the story. It was received most heartily 
when it ran as a serial in The Golden Rule. In its present form it is greatly en- 
larged, containing twice as much matter as originally. It is a splendid story for young 
people, whether they belong to the Christian Endeavor movement or not. 


QUARTERDECK 6 - FOK’SLE. By Molly Elliot 




Seawell, author of “Paul Jones,” “Midshipman Paulding,” 
“ Little Jarvis,” etc. 272 pp. Illustrated. $1.25. 


Two exceptionally interesting stories of our navy, written for boys, but which will 
be of equal interest to girls, as well as older readers. The first story tells of how a 
young fellow, who hated study and had never been made to go to school, learned the 
lesson of self-control, and by a series of disgraceful failures to pass nis examinations fur 
Annapolis found by experience that the important things of this world are accomplished 
only by the hardest kind of work. The success which came to him afterwards shows 
how thoroughly and well this lesson was learned. I he second story deals >\ith a 
famous incident of the English occupation of Newport, R. I., during the Revolutionary 
War where General Prescott was captured in his own house by a handful of Americans. 
An important part in this incident was taken by a boy. What he did and how lie did it 
is fully told in the story. His service in the young American navy is the natural result 
of his love for the sea and his ardent patriotism. 

The author knows how to tell her stories to captivate the boys, and the character of 
her heroes is such as to elevate and ennoble the reader.— Hartford Evening Post. 


BOSTON, W. A. WILDE & CO., 25 BROMFIELD ST. 


2 


W. A. WILDE & CO., PUBLISHERS. 


CIVILE YOUNG REPORTER . A Story of Printing 
House Square. By William Drysdale, author of “Abel 
Forefinger,” “ In Sunny Lands,” “ Proverbs from Plymouth Pul- 
pit,” etc. 335 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. 

Every American boy who reads the newspapers is interested in the methods and 
adventures of the reporters who gather news for the great dailies. They go everywhere, 
meet all the prominent people of the time, and are constantly in the front of every- 
thing that is interesting and exciting. 

In “ The Young Reporter ” Mr. William Drysdale has described the adventures of 
a young printer boy with a taste for newspaper work, who became a reporter for one of 
the great New York dailies when he was only eighteen. His introduction to the office 
by taking in an important piece of news, his early experience there, his trials and temp- 
tations, his adventures among the convicts in Sing Sing, his exciting search for the 
stolen body of a millionaire, his voyage to Mexico and the West Indies, his experience 
with bookmakers, who consider a reporter a person to be bribed, are all described to the 
life. 

Every adventure through which Dick Sumner is taken is an actual adventure, — 
something that has really happened. From his first visit to the Transport office till his 
successful production of “The Through Sleeper,” his experiences are as true to life as 
actual truth can make them. It is a book which no boy can read without having his 
ambition stirred and his character strengthened. 

CT^HREE COLONIAL BOYS. A Story of the Times 
of ’76. By Everett T. Tomlinson, author of “The Search 
for Andrew Field,” “The Boy Soldiers of 1812,” etc. 368 
pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. 

We have issued this book as an aid in the solution of that difficult problem, “ What 
shall our young people read?” 

It deals with one of the most interesting periods of American history, and em- 
braces many incidents and regions which heretofore have been kept in the background. 

Young people like excitement, as children crave sugar, and, while the book deals 
largely with actual experiences, it furnishes an excitement which is not born of the un- 
natural or impossible. 

It is a story of three boys who were drawn into the events of the times; is patriotic, 
exciting, clean, and healthful, and instructs without appearing to. The heroes are 
manly boys and no objectionable language or character is introduced. The lessons of 
courage and patriotism especially will be appreciated in this day. 

It is handsomely illustrated, printed, and bound, and we are confident will be 
eagerly welcomed by all who are seeking for a book for young people which shall be 
wholesome, interesting, healthfully exciting, and at the same time instructive. 

It is the first of a series, but is complete in itself. 



APN THISTLETOP. By Sophie Swett, author of 

“ Captain Polly,” “ Flying Hill Farm,” “ Mate of the Mary Ann,” 
etc. 282 pp. Illustrated. $1.25. 


Sophie Swett has won a remarkable and deserved popularity for the strong and 
wholesome stories for girls which she has written. In her stories she believes in intro- 
ducing boys, and it is this feature of her work that gives her stories their naturalness and 
much of their interest. In her latest book, “ Cap’n Thistletop,” the principal char- 
acters are a boy and a girl, brother and sister; the girl’s firmness of character 
holds her brother up to his work for making a place for himself in the world. She urges, 
beguiles, and compels, as occasion serves, but still remains the natural, lovable girl, her- 
self, so many thousands of whom are daily making the world brighter and better. 

Margaret E. Sangster says, “ Miss Swett has the knack of telling a story so naturally 
and in so interesting a manner that you cannot put her books down until you are at the 
very end of the last chapter, and then you sigh and wish there was a sequel.” 


BOSTON, W. A. WILDE & CO., 25 BROMFIELD ST. 


W. A. WILDE & CO., PUBLISHERS. 


3 



ACK BENSON' S LOG; or, Afloat with the Flag 

in *6i. By Chas. Ledyard Norton. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25. 


Of all the boys who enlisted in the navy at the outbreak of the Civil War, perhaps 
Jack Benson was the luckiest. His guardian, an old sailor, wanted him to enlist; his 
first ship was “ Old Ironsides,” and he helped to save her from an attempted capture by 
the secessionists at Annapolis in 1861. Then he had (he good fortune to ship on board 
a fast little steamer that was hurried in'o commission for blockading purposes and had a 
very pretty little fight off Cape Hatteras, and captured a prize at the very beginning of 
her career. In short, Jack was on hand as a spectator, if not as a participant, at most of 
the notable naval events that took place on the Atlantic coast during the four years 
of the war. 


cr*HE M YSTERIO US VO YA GE OF THE DAPHNE, 

By Lieut. H. P. Whitmarsh, R. N., and others. 305 pp. 

Illustrated. Cloth, #1.25. 

A book of stories for boys and girls by some of the best American authors. Such 
names as Wm. O. Stoddard, Hezekiah Butterworth, James G. Austin, Lieut. H. P. 
Whitmarsh, Marjorie Richardson, and Emma H. Nason will give a fair idea of the 
reputation and the standing of the writers whose stories are included in this book. The 
book is made exceptionally interesting by a large number of illustrations, while the 
quality of the stories cannot be.questioned. The book is one that we can recommend 
as entirely safe to put in any girl’s or boy’s hands. 



IG CYPRESS. By Kirk Munroe, author of “Fur 
Seal’s Tooth,” “Camp-mates,” “Raft-mates,” “Dory-mates,” 
“ Canoe-mates,” etc. 164 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.00. 


Kirk Munroe’s books always teach something worth knowing. In his last story, 
“ Big Cypress,” the author includes a large amount of information about Florida, its 
coast, the Everglades region, the climate, and the Seminole Indians as they are to-day 
* * * The story is so fascinating that it will hold the absorbed attention of every boy and 
girl reader to the end. — Boston Transcript. 

A bright, wide-awake book as interesting and helpful for girls as for boys. — Golden 
Rule. 


A vivid picture of life among the Seminole Indians of Florida, about whom so little 
is known. — Advance, Chicago. 

A story * * * inculcating manliness and full of incident. — Congregationalist. 


JS) HI LIP LEICESTER. By Jessie E. Wright, author 

I 0 f “ Freshman and Senior,” “ Marjoribank,” “ Curly Head,” etc. 

264 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25. 

The real motive of the story is a lesson for mothers, — that God will be with the 
children of love and prayer, even though they may be passing through the fires of temp- 
tation and bad influence. — The Evangelist, New York, 

The book ought to make any reader thankful for a good home and thoughtful for 
the homeless and neglected . — Golden Rule. 

The idea of the story is happily conceived and skilfully handled. — S. S. Library 
Bulletin. 

There is real merit in the story. — Epworth Herald. 

A charming story for young people. — Young Men's Era. 

The interest of the reader is engaged and never flags until the last page is read. 

Christian Observer. 

BOSTON, W. A. WILDE & CO., 25 BROMFIELD ST. 


4 


W. A. WILDE & CO., PUBLISHERS. 



ELOUBET’S SELECT NOTES. By F. N. Pelou- 

bet, D. D., and M. A. Pei.oubet. A Commentary on the Inter- 
national Sunday-School Lessons. Illustrated. 340 pp. Cloth, 


$1.25. 

This commentary is the one book every teacher must have in order to do the best 
work. It interprets the scripture, illustrates the truths, and by striking comments con- 
vinces the mind. 

It is comprehensive, and yet not verbose, and furnishes winnowed material in the 
most attractive and yet convincing form from both spiritual and practical standpoints. 
Accurate colored maps and profuse original illustrations illuminate the text, and create 
an intelligent and instructive view of the subject matter. 

Teachers are invited to send for sample pages of Select Notes. 

It is safe to say that no better help on the International Lessons has ever been 
printed than Select Notes. — Christian at Work. 

We know of no other book that fills the place of Select Notes. — Golden Rule. 

Teachers and scholars have come to regard Select Notes as an essential part of their 
annual Sunday-school outfit. — Cumberland Presbyterian. 

Select Notes has become as much of an institution as the International Lessons. — 
A dvance. 

Select Notes is current everywhere. Among the many books issued as helps to the 
study of the Sunday-school lessons this is the best. — Messiah's Herald. 


w 


A KS OF WORKING ; or, Helpf ul Hints to Sunday- 
School Workers of all Kinds. By Rev. A. F. Schauffler, 
D. D. 285 pp. Cloth, $1.25. 


All the methods of Vvork suggested in the following pages have been tried and ap- 
proved by the author. There is nothing that is merely theoretical. Many things other 
than those alluded to have also been tried, and, having proved failures, have been laid 
aside. Nothing but what came through the fire of experience unscathed has been 
dwelt upon. Not all the methods recommended have been originated by the author. 
In fact, the land was ransacked during the time of his actual superintendency for help- 
ful methods, and wherever these were found they were adopted. Sometimes they had 
to be adapted, as well as adopted, and this will probably be the case in many schools 
who try to take up with some of the forms suggested. But if the suggestions given here 
serve to stimulate others in the line of advance, the aim of the book will have been 
accomplished. — A uthor's Preface. 


CT-'HE GOSPELS COMBLNED. Compiled by Rev. 

Charles H. Pope. 208 pp. Cloth, 75c. 

Parallel passages blended, and separate accounts connected; presenting in one con- 
tinuous narrative the life of Jesus Christ as told by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. 

This book will be the best help to a clear connected view of the life and words of 
our Lord. Just the thing for every Sunday-school Teacher and Bible Class Student. 

CJ^HE BEACON LLGHT SERIES. By Natalie L. 

Rice. Illustrated. Each vol. 96 pp. 

A collection of bright, attractive stories from the best known writers for young 
people in the Junior and Intermediate classes. The set, 5 vols., in a box, #2.50. 



OHS LIBRARY. Edited by Lucy Wheelock. 

Without question the most delightful set of books for little ones. Over 400 
illustrations. The set, 10 vols., in a box, $2.50. 


BOSTON, W. A. WILDE & CO., 25 BROMFIELD ST. 

































